


The Wrath of Heaven

by Syluk



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternative Universe from season 4, Angel Wings, Archangel Dean Winchester, BAMF Michael, Big Brother Michael, Bromance, Dean is Michael, Fallen Angel Dean Winchester, Fallen!Michael, Family, Friendship, Gen, Good Michael (Supernatural), Michael is Dean, Michael!Dean, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Michael
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-14
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-08-08 18:15:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,077
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7768192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syluk/pseuds/Syluk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The archangel Michael hadn't planned to stay human for so long, and he certainly hadn't expected to reincarnate as Dean Winchester, the human who broke the first seal of Lucifer's cage and who by his Father's Will was supposed to become his true vessel. </p><p>(AU from season 4, Michael!Dean)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Alastair was officially creeped out.

Hundreds, thousands, millions of souls passed through his hands from the moment he was born. Under the Master Torturers blade millions screamed in pain, writhed with agony, begged him to stop. Hundred of thousands were made into demons thanks to his guidance by knifes, shredders, hooks, acids, flames…

Except one soul who had not reacted to any of it.

Maybe it was because it was Righteous Man's soul, but it was still a simple human. The first thirty years were nothing different. The soul screamed, writhed, more cursed than begged, but Alastair didn't feel chagrined by it. He smiled at the poor bastard on his rack, thinking of new and more thrilling ways to dim that annoying bright light, shining through the scars of pain, and agony, and despair…

And when the Righteous Man said 'Yes', and took the blade – everything went wrong.

It should have started to torture other souls. It should have enjoyed that, and with every carving its soul should have lost its brightness and began to blacken. But as soon as the Righteous Man drew first blood with the knife it was given, it stopped and just stared at its victim. And stared. And stared. Not even Alastair was able to shake it from its trance.

So he put the soul back on the rack. The First Seal was broken already, that's what mattered the most, but Alastair was a stubborn demon. He wanted to break the Righteous Man, to see that shiny bright soul transform into the demonic blackness, gleaming with sin and pain.

But the soul just stared at his tormentors without saying a word, without screaming, pleading, begging, nothing. Just staring. Alastair felt frustrated, annoyed, and after several years, he felt furious. That pitying gaze was maddening. He could feel it even when he carved or burned the eyes out. The stare of the Righteous Man got stuck on his evil essence like an annoying itch he couldn't scratch. Slowly it started to drive Hell's Master Torturer insane.

After another eight years of intensely trying to break the Righteous Man's soul and completely failing, the angelic garrison assaulting Hell drew uncomfortably close. Alastair knew that it was a matter of days, maybe even hours, till the last line of demonic defense crumbled and those shiny birds would swarm his lovely chambers. He needed to leave. That was the master plan, after all. But the inability to break the brightest soul in Hell's history infuriated Alastair. Maybe he even felt a bit ashamed. How could he call himself Master Torturer, if he was unable to make the soul scream?

To add salt to the demon's wounds, the Righteous Man smiled when the burning light of the angel's grace illuminated the torture chamber. Even if its jaw was ripped away, its lips were cut off, eyes carved out, Alastair could swear he saw the smug smirk appear on the soul's face.

Master Torturer could only gawk at his victim helplessly.

Alastair fled when the intensity of the impending angel's grace started to burn his essence with a great precision. He knew that the angel was started to get ready to smite him for what he did to the Righteous Man, and even if he was able to resist it from affair, his core would be destroyed once the heavenly warrior came closer. No demon could withstand the presence of an angel.

The celestial entity descended onto the torture chamber, his grace's light banishing the darkness and scorching the layers of Hell all round him, making it impossible for Hell's spawns to enter this place at least for a couple of centuries. The rack incinerated with the mere thought from the angel, freeing the tortured soul.

It couldn't see around itself, but something close by felt so familiar, so homey, the soul reached for the safety, no hesitation in its trembling hand. The warmth embraced its scarred self, soothing and cradling it with attentive care. The soul couldn't help, but cling to it harder as the reassuring waves washed over it, healing its surface wounds and scars.

Suddenly it began to remember. It remembered its younger brother Sam, his tears when he was forced to watch it being torn apart by hellhounds. It remembered its dad who sold his soul to save its ass. It remembered Bobby, and Ellen, and Jo, and the Baby. It remembered its mother's smile, when it tugged on her blonde strands, remembered her sweet smell when she leaned to kiss it before tucking it into bed and whispering the words, " _Angels are watching over you_ ," like they were a secret.

Surrounded by the soothing safety of an angel's grace, the soul remembered itself. He was Dean Winchester. A human, a hunter, a friend, a son, a brother.

As the heavenly warrior ascended the lower layers of Hell with his precious cargo, slowly cleansing its essence from any blackness which managed to wiggle in between the cracks from the endless torture, the soul started to remember the lives beyond just Dean Winchester's. More than a hundred of other mortal lives before he became who he was now, his soul going on the continuous reincarnation cycle.

Finally, he remembered his original creation, his Father smiling when he first opened his eyes. He remembered how confused he felt. He remembered the creation of his first younger brother, soon followed by the other two, and the war against the Darkness. He remembered the nothingness molded into the Universe by the God's hands, the creation of the Heaven, the Great Beasts, their banishment and the creation of all the rest of his younger siblings, one after another, the Garden, the Earth, and humans. He remembered the First Sin, the Rebellion shaking Heaven to its core. He remembered casting his beloved brother from Heaven for defying Father's words. He remembered the emptiness and void he felt watching how his fallen brother, once the brightest and the most beautiful angel in Heaven, seduced the pure human soul and twisted and broke it. When the First Demon rose, his brother felt so smug and proud of his doings. He remembered Father locking the rebellious son away, in the deepest abyss of Hell. He remembered Father's disappointment and His departure. He remembered His last words for him. He remembered his little brother's disappearance, and the growing resentment of another.

As the memories of millenniums over millenniums years flooded his fragile human soul, he shuddered. The angel immediately tightened his embrace, and he clung even more tightly to his rescuer. He felt the purifying essence carefully washing away all the taint from his soul's cracks, and he was so grateful to this little angel. The taint burned into his soul like a hot iron brand burned into flesh. With the grim horror he watched as the slivers of his taint whirled around in the young one's grace. It would take some time for the being to cleanse his essence from such a raw and pure evil, coming from the heart of Hell.

He remembered ripping his own grace out. He had a plan then. Apparently something went wrong. Very, very wrong.

The archangel Michael hadn't planned to stay human for so long, and he certainly hadn't expected to reincarnate as Dean Winchester, the human who broke the first seal of Lucifer's cage and who by his Father's Will was supposed to become his true vessel.

As his soul was gently nestled into his restored body, and he breathed a ragged breath for the first time in a very long time, Michael couldn't help but chuckle from the irony of his unexpected predicament. Maybe it was for the better, because with the attitude Dean Winchester had, he would have never said 'Yes' anyway.


	2. Chapter I

" _ **Dean Winchester is saved.**_ "

Dean coughed as stale and stuffy air filled his lungs. "Yea, saved, my ass…" he croaked as he rummaged around his pockets and was rewarded with a lighter.

Dean felt like his head wanted to burst open anytime, temples pulsing painfully, every quick move sending waves of pain through his skull. The memories were jumbled, with entireties of mortal lives lapping over each other and mixing with eons of his angelic recollections. Dean knew that until he could sort them out, he would have to deal with the mother of all the headaches, and all his younger siblings' cheering voices in the corner of his mind didn't help at all.

First things first, though, Dean really needed to get topside from six feet under. He pried the rotting wood board of his coffin lid, and slowly started ploughing his way through the dirt. Dean found a growing respect for all the zombies as his lungs screamed for air, his arms aching, and he felt like a supernova just went out in his head. Crawling out of your grave was not an easy task, that was for sure.

Finally he reached the top and took a deep breath of fresh air. For some time Dean just laid on the ground, staring blankly at the blue sky above him, listening at the bugs chirping around and feeling grass caressing his cheeks. It was all Father's creations, and the humans inhabiting the Earth – His greatest masterpiece. Dean put an elbow over his eyes, thinking over God's plan, but couldn't make head nor tail of it.

After a while, Dean hauled himself off the ground, looking around. The surrounding trees were torn out at their roots and flattened in a circle, with his grave as its epicenter. Some of their stems were broken in half, branches ripped off. Dean smirked as he took in the destruction of the forest, caused by the angel briefly touching the Earth in his true form.

The archangel coughed again and started walking in a random direction. He began to thoroughly sort through his memories, feeling the throbbing in his head subsiding with each memory placed into the correct spot. The angelic recollections sank into his mind easily. Then Dean separated memories of all the previous lives from the current one, and shoved them deep into his conscious.

As soon as he did that, Dean felt an urgent want, no, _need_ , to make sure Sam was okay, and the archangel frowned at that. He'd never become very close with his younger siblings, except Lucifer. The latter was the second angel to be created by Father, and for a while it was only three of them, until Raphael and Gabriel came into existence. Michael loved every younger sibling who was born later, but it was never the same.

The oldest archangel was so confused and lost, wondering what he should do now. Looking from the Heaven's position, God's plan was rather simple. Let Lucifer out, let him and Michael take their true vessels and have them fight till one of them won, with Heaven and Hell on the sidelines cheering for the horse they'd respectively bet on. Looking from humanity's perspective, from Dean Winchester's position, this plan was the biggest _bullshit_ Dean had ever heard. And he'd heard lots of bullshit throughout his life…

Dean heaved a relieved sigh, as he spotted the lonely gas station in the middle of nowhere, and unconsciously quickened his pace. He really didn't want to think about what to do with the Apocalypse. His own emotions were all over the place, the angelic and mortal sides warring with each other. The archangel was conflicted, and right now his mortal body was demanding for a cup of water, so breaking and entering was a no brainer once he was sure that no one was around.

Finally the dirt was washed from his throat, and Dean felt his body relax as he emptied the whole bottle of water. He munched on some granola bars, sating his mortal needs for the moment. With that taken care off, his mind again wandered to what to do next. Whatever he decided to do with the Apocalypse, first step was regaining his grace. Sam could probably help with that, maybe even Bobby.

Dean groaned from that line of thought. He couldn't just tell them who he really was. They both were hunters, and would probably gank his ass first, then ask questions. Still, the Apocalypse was already rolling into town, and as powerless as he was right now, the fallen archangel needed allies. Sam Winchester was the key person for whatever path he would decide to take.

With a rough plan in mind, Dean grabbed some more snacks and water, emptied the register for money, when suddenly he felt the presence loom over the gas station. As TV and radio turned on, Winchester raised his eyebrow in curiosity.

" **Dean Winchester.** "

The high pitch whining sound pierced Dean's ears like the knife. He put his hands over his ears, gritting his teeth as the unbearable pain bore into his skull.

" **We need to talk.** "

The windows exploded. Dean hunched down as glass rained down on him. The whining sound stopped as abruptly as it started. Dean lifted his head to look around, and moaned as pain surged through it. The blood trickled from his ears, and the archangel frowned at the red drops on his palms. Huh. So that's how humans felt hearing an angel's true voice. He swore never to speak with any mortal without the vessel.

"Lower the volume, if you want to talk, buddy," Dean muttered under his breath as he collected his stolen goods and went outside to make a call.

Sam's mobile phone was turned off. Bobby didn't want to hear a word from him. He understood the reason behind it, but still Dean couldn't help but feel a little hurt because of how ruthlessly his call was brushed off. While staring at the old car in the parking lot, the archangel realized that he truly missed his wings and his Baby. He was unable to decide which one of two he missed more, though, and Dean snorted and shook his head amused. Who would have believed that he would actually compare such fundamentally different ways of transportation one day?

As soon as the battered, old scrap Dean hot-wired in that gas station rolled into Pontiac city, he almost smashed into the street light as the feeling of his own essence, of his power, the core of the archangel Michael, washed his senses. The emptiness inside ached to be filled; overwhelming desire to be whole again made him dizzy.

A piece of Michael's grace was here, in this city.

Barely containing excitement, Dean followed the feeling of his essence to the parking lot of the hotel by the name 'Astoria'. He jumped out from the junk he drove and he almost ran towards the building when suddenly his eyes fell on the sleek, black car. The archangel stopped in his track, the heart almost leaping out of his chest.

It was the Impala. It was his Baby.

With a trembling hand, Dean touched the trunk of the Impala and carefully stroked over the whole length of the car, all his longing and love in the motion. And then realization hit him – if Baby was here, then Sammy was here too. He was probably the one who had his grace which was buzzing eagerly inside the hotel. It wanted to be reunited with its archangel as much as he wanted to be whole again.

But why Sam was here? And why did he have a piece of Michael's grace? Did he know what he had? Maybe it was a trap. Not that Dean was afraid of being killed. Angels needed him alive and kicking, so they would resurrect him in a heartbeat, but the thought that Sam could be setting a trap for him to come and claim his essence was unsettling.

Dean stopped in front of the door of the room where his grace resided. He was completely powerless at the moment, so he couldn't sense who was in a room, but it was now or never. The archangel took a deep breath before knocking gently and uncertainly.

The doors opened after a moment. "Ruby, you don't need to–" Sam's voice hitched as his gaze fell on the person standing in front of the door. Instantly his brain shut down, unable to comprehend what was going on. He could just stare at the man with wide eyes and mouth agape.

Dean smiled at the utter disbelief etched on his human brother's face. He decided to ignore the name Sam had said for now, no need to start bickering from the very beginning. Crazy buzzing and roaring calling to be claimed drew the archangel's attention from the younger man's face to his neck. Dean's smile widened as the understanding of why Sam had the piece of his grace came to him. It was lodged into the amulet Sammy gifted to him so many years ago. Of course he took it with him when he buried his corpse.

Dean's eyes flickered to his brother's face again. "Heya, Sammy," he greeted softly.

That woke the younger Winchester out of his stupor, and Dean's heart broke at all the pain and grief suddenly appearing on Sam's features. After a split second, it was replaced by the rage, flaring like a fire in those hazel-green orbs.

Dean instinctively caught Sam's wrist as he attacked with the silver blade, twisted Sam around and restrained his hand behind his back. "Easy, Sammy," he said calmly, tearing the knife out of the younger man's palm and pushing him into the room. The archangel closed the door as he entered too, and turned to his brother.

Sam warily eyed the knife and gritted his teeth. "Who are you?!" he demanded.

"It's me, Sammy," Dean assured, brushing the silver blade over his forearm, drawing blood. "Not a shapeshifter, nor revenant." He pulled his t-shirt's collar, revealing an undamaged anti-possession tattoo. "Not a demon, either. Just me. Dean."

A hope sparked in Sam's tired eyes. "Dean..?" His voice was so small, just above the whisper, broken and shattered. Fear settled on his face. "But…" ' _You're dead_ ' was left unsaid, like Sam was afraid to disturb the illusion in front of him by uttering those words.

"No buts. I look fantastic, I know. But you," Dean pointed at Sam, startling him, and grinned. "You need a haircut, kiddo."

Sam let out a short chuckle, something between annoyance and amusement, and suddenly Dean found himself in a body-crushing hug. Sam clung to him like he feared that letting his older brother out of his embrace would somehow mean he would leave or disappear into thin air.

Dean wrapped his arms around Sam, who slightly trembled and gripped his big brother even harder with every passing second. And at that moment the archangel realized that he loved this kid. He loved him so much that he couldn't let anything happen to him. He couldn't let Lucifer raise and claim him as his true vessel, destroying everything what made Sam Winchester who he was in the process. Dean would never forgive himself if his brother ceased to exist.

"Sam, I need to breathe here," Dean wheezed out after couple minutes when his brother's hug didn't loosen up in the slightest.

"Oh. Sorry." Sam pulled from him in a reluctant hurry, but kept one hand on Dean's shoulder to make sure that his brother really was there. He looked him over, the image of a bloody, shredded body flashing through his mind. "But… How? How are you here? Alive?"

"Someone pulled me out," the older Winchester explained. "I just woke up in the coffin six feet under, had to crawl out to topside." His eyes dropped to Sam's chest where the amulet hung. The buzzing of the archangel's grace was getting stronger. The emptiness in the spot inside him from where the grace was ripped away ached with pain and need to embrace it.

Sam followed his line of sight, and smirked as he realized where his brother's eyes were glued. "You probably want this back," he said, pulling the amulet from under his shirt and over his head. The younger Winchester dangled it in front of Dean, and grinned when the latter sucked in a breath. Sam didn't expect to get a hug for returning the trinket, so he almost toppled over when Dean grabbed it and literally threw himself on him. "Uh, Dean?" he called, confused.

The archangel squeezed the amulet in his fist before the warm golden light could illuminate the dim room and alert Sam. "Thanks," he whispered.

"Don't mention it."

Dean pulled away, still keeping the amulet tightly in his hand. The grace was already trying to seep into him. "Okay, enough chick-flick moments, I, uh, I need to pee now," he said grinning, and quickly strode to the bathroom.

Sam gave him incredulous stare. "Seriously?"

"What?" Dean stopped before closing the door, the hand with the amulet safely hidden behind it, and turned to Sam. "I haven't peed in like…" He did some calculation in his head, and scowled at the result. "Longer than I would be comfortable to admit out loud."

Sam shook his head at Dean's antics, smiling. "Take a shower, too! You need it!" he shouted to him, after bathroom door's closed.

"Bitch!" a reply came from inside.

"Jerk!" Sam retorted happily, a huge grin plastered across his face.


	3. Chapter II

Dean dropped a towel onto the floor and stuffed it into the gap under the door. When he was sure that Sam would not see any strange lights coming from the bathroom, he shifted his attention to the amulet.

Slowly unclenching his fist, Dean smiled softly at the golden light emanating from the inanimate object. The grace pulsed eagerly, and he finally let it free itself. A sliver of the golden colored archangel's essence surged from the amulet, showering the bathroom with its soft, divine light, and Dean quickly inhaled it.

The grace easily slipped into its proper place, filling the previously empty space with its warmth. Power rushed through Dean's mortal body as a sensation of burning spread across his veins and every single capillary, clawed into his muscles, almost ripping them apart, engulfing the archangel's vessel in agonizing pain.

Dean gasped, causing the lamp in the bathroom flicker. He quickly urged his grace to calm down. It was just a piece of Michael's full grace, but even with pain coursing through his body, Dean already felt so much better. It would take longer to collect all the other pieces scattered around the Earth until the archangel was whole again, yet his true essence snuggling beside his human soul gave him confidence. With the first piece it would be easier to find the rest of it.

"Dean?!" Sam's worried call from other side of the bathroom door woke the archangel from the meditative trance he'd fallen in. "Are you alright? Lights are flickering."

"I'm fine, Sammy!" he answered, keeping his voice even with a great effort. "It flickered here too, but just a few times. It's probably nothing."

"Okay. Maybe it was wiring. Just wanted to make sure…"

Dean heard Sam shuffling away from the door, and heaved a sigh. He tucked his grace under his soul so nobody would notice it. Supernatural creatures may feel something strange about him, but they would not know what it was and hopefully brush it off as nothing. Angels would be able to see only his human soul occupying the body. He knew from personal experience that pretty much every angel was way too arrogant to pay enough attention to a human's soul to notice anything strange about his. They would understand who Dean really was if they decided to touch it, but the archangel doubted that they would do that without a serious reason.

As his grace settled in, Dean felt it – the touch of another angel, engraved on his soul. He frowned, pulling his upper clothes from himself and turning to the mirror. The mark of an angel was visible even on the flesh of his vessel. Dean eyed an angry red, handprint shaped scar on his shoulder, perplexed by why the young one put a protection brand on him, assigning himself a guardian angel's duty. Michael didn't remember anything about such a thing in the God's plan.

Deciding to think about it later, Dean turned to the shower and grinned. The shower – one of the reasons to save humanity!

* * *

Sam anxiously paced the room with a gun at the ready, but the lights hadn't flickered anymore. The salt lines on the windowsills were undisturbed – the only spot unprotected was the front door for Ruby to enter. Maybe it really was just bad wiring. Sam tried to convince himself that it was just a coincidence that lights flickered the moment his suddenly not-so-dead older brother retreated into the bathroom.

The younger Winchester heard the shower starting, and forced himself to sit on the couch, the exit of the room and the door to the bathroom in his sight. After a moment, he stood up again, went to refrigerator and prepared couple of beers, mixed with holy water.

Dean felt like Dean. Sam truly wanted to believe that it was his older brother, but some instinct deep in his guts nagged annoyingly about something being off. Dean had spent four months in Hell. No person could come out of such an ordeal unscathed. It was probably just that. Sam hoped it was just that.

He jumped in surprise when room door opened, and a petite brunette entered. "Hey, Sam," she greeted cheerfully, throwing her arms around him.

Sam put his hands on her shoulders and gently pushed the woman away. "You shouldn't be here," he said, glancing at the bathroom. "You should go."

"What are you talking about?" She frowned at him. "I thought we're past it, Sam."

"Look…"

"No, you look," the brunette took Sam's chin and forced him to look at her. "I know it's hard for you, but you must do it. Lilith must die at any cost. Did you forget what she did to Dean?"

"I didn't!" bristled Sam. "This isn't about it. You should go. I call you later and explain."

The woman stared at him, confused. "Fine!" She threw her arms into the air surrendering, turned around and froze at the sight of the person standing in front of the exit and blocking the only retreat path for her.

Dean folded his arms in front of his chest and smirked at the dumbfounded duo. "Hello, Ruby," he said neutrally. In the inside, the archangel was seething with rage. His grace sparked restlessly with the need to smite the demon bitch, even though Dean knew he hadn't enough juice to pull that kind of stint just yet. The demon-killing knife was in Sam's possession, so at the moment there was no way to get rid of her. The only thing he could do right now was keep pretending to be friendly, so that the demon wouldn't run away from him once he got his hands on the means to purged the world from its evil stain.

Dean glanced at his brother, and for the moment his mind went blank. Now that he got back the part of his angelic core and took a better look at him, he could feel the demonic essence in Sam, flowing freely through his veins, tainting his bright soul, burning it, and leaving only ugly black scars behind.

Dean's smile dropped. His mind was going a mile a minute. So, Ruby was already preparing Sam for the moment when Lucifer would claim him as his vessel. The demon blood was essential for the Devil's vessel to function properly. The archangel shifted his gaze back on Ruby, but this time his eyes were ruthless and cold as he stared the demon down. Dean wondered if she knew exactly what she was doing, or hooked Sam up on demon blood just to put a leash on the kid for an easier way to control him.

Ruby instinctively stepped back. Something was off with that man, and all her instincts screamed to flee as far from him as possible. It confused the demon. Dean was just a human, she was sure of that, so Ruby brushed the strange feeling aside, and put a friendliest smile she could muster. "It's good to see you again, Dean."

Dean narrowed his eyes, but before he could say anything, Sam stepped in front of the demon. "Look, Dean, just hold on, okay? Let me explain this. Ruby is here to help me… us. We're trying to find Lilith to kill her."

"Uh-huh," Dean muttered, still glaring at the demon. "At _any cost_ , eh Sam? Really? What if the cost is too high?"

Ruby shifted from one foot to another, uncomfortable under such heavy and icy scrutiny from the older Winchester. He was supposed to break in Hell. That's what Hell did to the human souls. Dean spent 40 years downstairs, it should have been enough time to break the strongest individual. He should have been just a shell of the person he once was. So why did Dean seemed stronger, more determined and confident when he ever was before Hell? There was no doubt, wavering or self-loathing in those steely green orbs.

"What if it's your own soul?" Dean continued after the brief pause.

Sam snorted. "You're the one to talk. You sold yours!"

"Yes! To save you," the older Winchester agreed, finally glancing back at his brother. "And let me tell you, Sammy, it's a hell of a resort downstairs. I'll never _ever_ let you do anything to earn a place there. Am I clear, Ruby?"

The demon flinched when Dean's gaze fell on her again. "I-I should probably go," she stuttered.

"Don't let me keep you," Dean retorted, stepping away from the front door and motioning for her to leave. He clenched his fists, holding himself against lashing out as the demon scrambled past him in a hurry and slammed the doors not even once looking back.

"You… You remember Hell?"

The quiet question from Sam brought Dean's attention from the door to his brother. The archangel sighed. "I do," he conceded. "I remember every second. Every freaking second. So, you bet your ass I will do everything to keep you as far from that place as possible."

Sam opened his mouth, but closed it as he couldn't think of anything to say to that. "I-I'm sorry," he finally said. "I-I tried everything to pull you out, but no demon wanted to deal. I even tried to open the Devil's Gate. Nothing worked..." Sam's voice got quieter as he spoke, dark emotions flashing through his eyes. "Dean, I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said softly. "I'm here now, so don't think about that anymore." He clapped the younger man over his shoulder. "Hey, do you have some beer? I could definitely use some beer."

Sam sniffed, and brushed a hand over his eyes, clearing unshed tears. "Yeah, sure," he answered, grabbing two bottles from the fridge and giving one to Dean who was already sprawled on the couch.

"Awesome!" Dean grinned after the first sip. Beer – just another reason to preserve the humanity!

Sam gave him a lop-sided smile, taking a sip from his own bottle.

"Sam," Dean cleared his throat before continuing, "I'm sorry too."

The younger Winchester furrowed his brows in confusion. "For what?"

"For dying." The archangel shrugged, before adding, "For leaving you alone."

"It wasn't your fault."

"It wasn't," Dean agreed, "-but I'm still sorry for leaving you alone to deal with all this shit. I'm back now, and we're gonna deal with it together like always."

Sam's lips curled into a small smile. "Okay." He felt like a heavy burden had been lifted from his shoulders, and he was able to breathe again. He had his brother back. Dean wasn't rotting in Hell anymore; he wasn't being tortured and twisted into becoming a demon. The knowledge of it was the most liberating feeling the young hunter had felt in years. Together they always were able to go against all odds, despite how grim or dark circumstances appeared.

Dean observed Sam's tense frame relaxing, the smile on his tired face widening. Sam's dimmed soul sparked with a renewed vitality, shining brightly through the patches of the taint. The archangel smirked. That was all the proof he needed to be sure that Sam still had the chance to be saved.

Michael always was a good little solder, doing everything his Father had told him without any questions. He didn't even try to save Lucifer, regardless how much he loved him. And now Father wanted him to fight the same brother whom he had already failed so miserably. Father ordered Michael to kill Lucifer. If he followed the plan, he would need to kill Sam too.

Dean's dad gave a similar order: kill Sam if he would not be able to save him. Being a good son as he was all his life, Dean was supposed to fulfill dad's order without question. Looking at the current state of Sam's soul, he was already pretty far into becoming something not human. It would take one push for him to cross that line. If Lucifer took his vessel, he wouldn't have any other options; he would have to do it.

Well, both Michael and Dean were done being good sons and good soldiers. For once he'd be a good brother. He loved Sam too much. Michael never believed that he was capable of loving someone more than he loved Lucifer or even his Father, but here he was, planning to go against destinies and prophecies from the beginning of time for a mere human. He did nothing to save his younger brother, failed Lucifer by not stretching out a helping hand to him when he needed it the most. This time Dean decided to do everything in his powers to save and protect his youngest, human brother.

Screw Father's plan! Screw dad's orders!


	4. Chapter III

"I'm guessing you didn't come to plant flowers on my grave," Dean spoke first after comfortable silence between two brothers. "What were you doing around here?"

"Well, once I figured out I couldn't save you… I started hunting down Lilith, trying to get some payback."

"With Ruby?"

"Yeah, Dean, she really wants to help," Sam assured. Seeing the blank look from his brother, he added, "She's trying to track down Lilith so that we can kill her."

"Oh, she wants to kill Lilith, I don't doubt that," Dean murmured. "It's just the time and method she's concerned about."

Sam frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Nothing," the archangel hastily said. "How are you planning to gank that bitch anyways?"

The younger Winchester fidgeted nervously. "Um, Ruby's knife?" he answered with uncertainty. His eyes darted around the room, avoiding Dean's.

"Seriously?" Dean raised an eyebrow at that. "You understand that Lilith is at the top of the food chain, right? The knife isn't gonna work on her."

Sam stared at him with wide eyes like the thought had not even crossed his mind, with a touch of surprise that Dean knew that. "How do you know that?"

"I spent forty years in Hell, Sammy," the older man replied, before taking another sip of his beer. "I heard things."

Sam's beer bottle suddenly slipped through his fingers and dropped on the carpet. "Forty years?" he whispered in horrified disbelief.

"The time downstairs flows differently," Dean explained, shrugging nonchalantly. He stared at his youngest brother's soul and all the taint it had accumulated till now. He frowned as a thought popped into his mind. "Don't tell me you're using your psychic powers to hunt the demons?"

"What?!" Sam jumped from his sitting position, before disclaiming aggressively, "No! You didn't want me to go down that road, I didn't go down that road!"

Dean sighed at the way Sam's soul dimmed. He was lying and felt extremely guilty for it. Seriously, humans. The archangel might have lived as one for a couple of centuries, but he still had trouble truly understanding them. "Okay then, let's keep it that way," he pretended that he believed the hunter's lies. "So, Lilith is in Pontiac?"

"No!" Sam denied forcefully, then sat down again and took a breath to compose himself. "No. I was checking these demons out of Tennessee, and out of nowhere they took a hard left, booked up here."

Dean leaned forward, his interest piqued. "When?"

"Today early morning."

Dean almost smacked himself. Of course! An angel touching the Earth sent ripples of purifying power throughout the surrounding area, making it a shiny beacon for all the evil sons of bitches out there. Anyone curious enough with a lack of self-preservation would come here to take a peek at what happened.

"You should call Bobby," Dean suddenly stated.

"Why?" Sam asked, confusion written all over his face.

"If your demons came here at the moment I busted out, there may be more of them coming. We should clear the place before leaving."

Sporting a troubled expression, the younger Winchester nodded and picked up the phone to make the call.

"Don't tell him I'm up and running," Dean requested, as Sam waited for Bobby to answer. The younger brother shot him a bitch face, causing Dean to grin at him.

"Hey, Bobby," Sam greeted, and then frowned, after several minutes he pinched his nose bridge. "Yeah, I know, I should have called sooner. Sorry, Bobby, I was pretty messed up. – I, uh, I need help. – With the hunt. – It's demons. I'm at…" Dean finished his beer and put the bottle on the table, getting Sam's attention. The younger man eyed him from head to toe. "Hey, Bobby, can you bring Dean's duffle bag with his clothes?" Sam rolled his eyes at something the old hunter was saying which sounded like 'idjit, what have you done?' or something along the line. "No, I haven't done anything stupid. I want… I want to burn them. – Sure, see you soon." He put the phone back into his pocket. "Bobby will be here at night."

"Awesome." Dean stood up and stretched. "Let's get something to eat, I'm starving!"

* * *

Sam tore his gaze from the laptop, and leaned against the couch, rubbing his eyes. He glanced at the big bundle in the middle of the king bed and sighed.

Dean loved to sleep sprawled over the bed, with his limbs stretched in all directions. Now, though, his big brother huddled up into the smallest ball he could manage with his bulky frame hidden completely under the blankets. As if trying to protect himself from the non-existent threat.

Sam still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that it was forty years for Dean in Hell. He didn't even try to imagine what kind of horrors his brother had to live through. A voice in his mind nagged that his imagination was too poor for the reality in Hell.

But the worse was, Sam thought, Dean's attitude. He acted like nothing was wrong with him. Dean had smiled more times during the past few days than in the past couple years, way too happy and carefree for a man who just busted out of Hell.

Sam frowned at his own train of thoughts. It's not like he wasn't pleased that Dean wasn't a broken shell of a man. Sam felt thrilled, really, but that kind of happy-go-lucky attitude didn't seem healthy. Maybe his big brother was too broken to function normally back in this world. The hunter started to wonder if it was wise to take him on the hunts. What if Dean would crack under the pressure?

Sam was woken from his musings by a knocking. He stood up and opened the door. The grumpy glare he got from Bobby made him roll his eyes. "Bobby, good to see you," he said, backing to the side and motioning the old hunter to enter.

Bobby stepped forward to give the kid half-hug. He then made his way into the room, dropped the duffle bag on the floor and took a sharp turn to glare at him. "So, boy, what did you do?"

"What do you mean?" Sam asked, knitting his brow into a confused frown.

"You didn't show up or call for four months after Dean's…" the older man trailed off, unable to say the last word. The wound was still too deep, too fresh to mention it out loud. He straightened his shoulders and continued, "And suddenly you want _help_ on a _demon_ hunt, in addition to asking for Dean's clothes?!"

Sam huffed exasperated, but before he could retort, a groggy voice drifted from the bed, "That's because those clothes are for me. You tend to get dirty while crawling out of your own grave."

Bobby went rigid for a moment then whirled to the direction of the voice, his eyes widened in disbelief.

A sleepy smile appeared on Dean's face. "Hey, Bobby," he said softly.

Bobby stepped back. "What..?" he stammered out, still not willing to believe what he was seeing with his own eyes. "I don't… Dean?"

Dean stared at the older hunter. With two absentee fathers, Bobby was the closest thing to the father he had who hadn't bailed on him or Sam. He had always been there for them through thick and thin. And, damn it all, the archangel loved this human too!

Bobby jumped when Sam's hand landed on his shoulder. The younger man smiled at him as his startled eyes met his. "It's him, Bobby. I checked him already, it's really Dean," Sam confirmed.

Dean wrestled himself out of the blankets. As soon as he stood up from the bed, Bobby crushed him into the tight bear hug, barely able to hold his tears from spilling. The archangel embraced him in return, smiling in delight.

Angels were beings of love and compassion, yet only becoming a human showed how different their love truly was. Yes, they all loved their Father, each other and some of them even humanity, but the depth of the same emotion surging from the human's soul was unfathomable. Michael actually felt proud that he could feel the love how humans felt it and receive the same in return from the people so dear.

Bobby pulled away from the hug and glanced over his boy. Dean looked good, unhurt, and had that vivid and innocent mischievous spark in his eyes which was always present in his childhood. It slowly faded away during his adolescence until there was no trace of it left at all. Bobby had to hold the tears in as he peered at Dean's emerald green orbs. "It's…" he cleared his throat, "It's good to see you, boy."

"Yeah, you too," Dean replied, patting Bobby on his shoulder.

"But… How did you bust out?"

"Someone yanked me out from Hell, so, here I am."

"That doesn't make a lick of sense," Bobby grumbled, taking a seat on the back of the couch. "Dean, your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop, and you've been buried for four months!"

Sam screwed up his face with sadness, remembering his older brother's limp, bloody body. The worst was his lifeless and empty eyes, staring at nothing. Sam shivered at the memory. He winced when Dean patted him on his back, and Sam felt himself relaxing at the reassuring smile his brother flashed to him. Those green eyes were full of life now.

Bobby continued, "Even if you could slip out of Hell and back into your meatsuit... Well, it's simply impossible." After seeing Dean just shrug, he asked, "How're ya feeling?"

"I'm alive. And before you ask – no, I don't feel anything strange. I'm all alone in here," Dean motioned over himself. "There are no extra passengers."

The older man hummed thoughtfully. His eyes darted to Sam, who didn't shift his gaze from his big brother from the moment he spoke about Dean's death. "You're awfully quiet, Sam. You wouldn't know anything about it?"

Sam instantly turned to him and scowled at the seeking narrowed eyes of his adoptive father. "No."

"Really? You were pretty stubborn to find a way to get your brother back."

Sam felt an anger flaring. "It wasn't me, alright? I tried! But nothing worked!" he yelled, but the sudden weight of Dean's hand on his shoulder gave him a comfort he so needed, and instantly calmed him down.

"It wasn't a demon deal, Bobby," Dean stated.

Bobby shook his head. "How do you know that? You, Winchesters, always do stupid-"

"Because I remember," the archangel interrupted. "The being that pulled me out, pretty sure that was not a demon."

Both other men stared at him incredulously. "Then what?" asked Bobby.

"My guess?" Dean glanced from one human to another. "An angel."

Hunters blinked. "An angel?" Bobby echoed, raising his eyebrows in an honest surprise.

Sam sighed. "Dean, you don't believe in angels."

The archangel snorted. He rubbed a hand over his mouth, trying to hold in laughter. Yes, he was a real dick on this particular topic until he regained his angelic memories. "From what I've seen, I may start to believe in them," Dean finally decided to say.

"Well," Sam started carefully like he was afraid to scare Dean, "there is much more lore on angels than on any other supernatural creature. Your theory… it's possible, I guess."

Bobby blew a deep breath out. "Alright, we need help," he summarized. "I know a psychic a few hours from here. Something this big, maybe she's heard the other side talking."

Dean mentally groaned, unconsciously tugging his grace closer to his soul. Powerful enough human psychics had the ability to sense his true essence, even if it was hidden from everyone else. Meeting this friend of Bobby's would be a real walk on eggshells around his mortal family.

"I think that's a great idea," Sam agreed when his big brother hadn't said a word.

"I'll be right back."

* * *

Pamela Barnes was not like Dean imagined. She was a young, gorgeous woman, and Bobby wasn't lying by introducing her as the 'best damn psychic in the state'. The archangel felt her carefully poking at his psyche, once her eyes fell on him, before he shut mental doors right before her probing mind. Pamela sent him an impressed glance, mixed with amusement, and he grinned at her.

Flirting came naturally with Pamela. She didn't suspect anything, only that he was a very strong person mentally, and Dean felt at ease. Right until they made the preparations for a séance, and everyone sat around the table.

"I, uh, I was thinking," Dean started, uncertain how to persuade them not to do it. "Maybe we shouldn't go spying at the being that can penetrate Hell and snatch a soul from there."

"Why not?" Sam asked.

"Just a peek at it could burn your eyes out of your skull, for all we know!"

"Dude, are you afraid of it?"

The archangel groaned. Humans! They just loved to poke the beast with the stick and hope that it'd stay asleep. "I'm wary," he growled out.

"Enough, boys," Bobby grumbled, and both Winchesters clamped up. That was the tone they didn't want to mess with.

"Don't worry, Dean," Pamela smiled brightly at him while patting his forearm, "I'll be fine. Now take each other's hands." She waited till everyone held hands and turned to Dean again. "It would be easier if I could touch something our mystery monster touched. Do you know how you've been raised from Hell?"

"He touched my soul," Dean muttered, still disgruntled about all the peeking at the angels business. Sam shot him a bitch face, Bobby just glowered, and Pamela stared at him curiously. The archangel rolled his eyes. "He left this," he said as he pulled one arm from his flannel and rolled a t-shirt sleeve up, revealing the handprint scar on the shoulder.

Sam and Bobby seemed startled by the sight of it, throwing glances between each other, but Pamela wasn't surprised. "Alright," she said, gently placing a hand on the mark. The psychic took a deep breath and started chanting, "I invoke, conjure, and command you… Appear unto me before this circle."

After several repeats, the TV suddenly turned on and the table started to shake. The feeling of a familiar angel's grace washed over Dean through the connection Pamela managed to establish. The angel quickly shielded himself before the psychic noticed him, and warned the human to turn back.

"Castiel?" Pamela tried the name which floated into her mind. "No. Sorry, Castiel, I don't scare easy. I conjure and command you… Show me your face!"

Dean frowned at the name. Michael never was particularly interested in getting to know all of his younger siblings. Especially after Lucifer's Rebellion, he closed off even from other archangels and retreated into his corner of Heaven. Their names were engraved into his mind, though, but without seeing an angel, Dean couldn't put a face to the name.

Pamela pushed forward with her powers, ignoring all the warnings from the angel. Dean observed his struggle to keep shields up, but they started to crack and slowly crumble. The archangel was impressed. Best damn psychic in the state for sure.

"Maybe we should stop…" Bobby suggested, trying to keep the shaking table in place.

Pamela gritted her teeth. "I almost got it!" she insisted. "I conjure and command you… Show me your face!"

The cracks widened, causing the angel to become furiously frantic. Dean jerked from Pamela's touch, using a tiny bit of his own grace to snap the connection off quicker before his sibling's shields crumbled completely and the human got hurt. He hoped that none of the participants noticed it, but apparently luck was not on his side.

Pamela jumped from her chair, eyes wide with alarm. She backed away from Dean until her back hit the wall. "Who… What are you?!"

Well, crap.


	5. Chapter IV

The room was completely silent. Everyone was frozen in their spots, all three humans staring at Dean who felt panic starting to well inside of him.

Should he come clean? The problem was that the archangel knew that Sam and Bobby wouldn't believe him if he said that he was an angel, fallen to Earth and born as a human. They didn't have a knowledge that angels existed yet. So, they would assume that some kind of demon was riding Dean's meatsuit, while the original owner burned in Hell. No, telling the truth right now would not help in a slightest.

"Oh, c'mon!" Dean yelled, looking annoyed as hell. "Don't even start with that crap! How many times do I have to prove that I'm me?"

Sam seemingly sagged from a very Dean-like reaction, but Bobby still stared at the older Winchester distrustfully. "Pamela, what do you mean?"

The psychic shook her head, lowering her eyes to look at the floor. "For a split second before he moved away, I felt… It was like… I don't even know how to describe it. Like hundreds, thousands of voices speaking at the same time in some unrecognizable language." She shuddered. "It was overwhelming. My mind almost shattered to pieces."

_Oh_ , so Pamela had eavesdropped on his siblings chattering the moment his grace touched her powers. They really were unusually chatty after Dean was saved from Hell, making plans, giving updates on seals, barking orders, and still singing praises about the Righteous Man's rescue.

"Wait," Sam frowned in thought. "How do you know that, whatever it was, came from my brother? Couldn't it be that you felt… the creature you spied on?"

Pamela lifted her gaze and glued it on Dean's face, searching. The archangel felt probing again, but this time, he let her in, hiding everything that was not Dean Winchester. The psychic heaved a relieved sigh when she didn't encounter that maddening cacophony of voices. Maybe she had been wrong, even though it had felt like the thunderous chorus did come from the man in front of her.

Dean shoved memory of one his torture sessions for Pamela, and the woman jumped when she ran into it, immediately withdrawing from his mind. Sam tensed again, and Bobby stepped closer to her.

"What?" he demanded.

"Nothing. Just saw some… unpleasant memory in Dean's mind," Pamela mumbled.

"Unpleasant memory?" Sam questioned.

"Hell, Sammy," Dean supplied, getting a worried look from his baby brother. "So, am I cleared of the accusation of being not human?"

"Yes. I'm sorry, Dean," the psychic apologized, but her eyes were still wary of him.

"Okay, whatever."

An awkward silence descended between them in the room. Sam cleared his throat. "We'll wait for you in the car, Bobby," he said.

"Alright, boys."

Dean let himself be guided through the doors outside, grumbling something under his breath. He completely missed a pointed glance Sam shot towards Bobby saying 'I'll take care of him, you stay and get more information'.

Once Dean reached his car, he put a hand on her roof and smiled warmly. "Oh, Baby, you're the only one who always has my back."

"Dude!" Sam bristled.

"What?" The archangel blinked at him innocently before cooing over the Impala further, "Don't mind him, sweetheart, he's just jealous of us."

The edges of younger man's mouth twitch into a smirk. "Should I give you two some quality time alone?"

"Don't be jealous, bitch."

"Don't make out with your car in front of me, jerk."

* * *

Dean knew that Sam wanted to talk with Bobby. Literally, yearned for it. His youngest brother was sulking in the front seat all the way back to Pontiac, blankly staring through the car's window and probably not seeing very much. The archangel wasn't sure what to say to make him feel better, and the hopelessness ate at his soul. The irony wasn't lost on him – Michael, one of the most powerful entities in existence, felt so useless right now because he didn't know how to comfort one fragile human.

The thing was that Pamela was right. He wasn't human. Not anymore, anyways. He wasn't an angel either. Not yet, at least. He was Dean Winchester, but at the same time, he also was the archangel Michael. It was such a mess. His memories were still in mild disarray, but they were already starting to settle down in harmony and weren't struggling against each other as much. At the moment, he was something in between. The fallen archangel scoffed at his own thoughts.

Whatever Sam and Bobby would decide about him, Dean settled on not fighting it. That's why he volunteered to fetch a take-out from the diner, once they rolled into its parking lot. Bobby eyed him suspiciously but gave Dean his order nonetheless, and the older Winchester strolled inside, leaving the two men for their much needed talk.

"What Pamela said? Is Dean alright?" Sam demanded the moment his big brother was out of earshot.

Bobby scowled. "She can't tell."

"What does that even mean?"

"That she doesn't know, that something is off and that we need to keep an eye on him." Seeing Sam's nervous look, Bobby hastily added, "Pamela is sure that Dean's human."

The younger Winchester heaved a relieved sigh. "That's good to hear."

Suddenly a high pitched whining sound filled the air, causing both men to wince as it was a bit too much for their ears. They sharply turned at the source – the diner – just as all the windows and glass door exploded, revealing a blinding white light shining from the inside. The hunters instinctively threw their arms over their heads to protect their eyes from the destructive brightness of the light.

Sam carefully peeked at his surroundings when everything seemed to calm down. The parking lot was empty, but there were people crowding the sidewalks, staring at the destructed diner and gossiping.

A terror gripped Sam when he glanced over at the diner. "Dean? Dean!" he called before bolting from the car towards the building. The glass crunched loudly under his boots as he carefully walked inside, eyes sweeping the area. "Dean?!"

Cracking shards announced Bobby coming from behind. "Can you see him?" the older man asked, his tone heavily laced with worry.

"No, but…" Sam trailed off when his eyes caught a sight of the body laying behind the counter. "Dean?" He quickly approached it. It wasn't Dean. The hunter noticed a pool of blood around the body's head, so he crouched and flipped it over.

The eyes' sockets were empty black abyss with severally scorched edges, eyeballs completely liquefied. Sam put a hand on his mouth as he felt nausea hitting him.

"Balls!" Bobby swore, looking over Sam's shoulder at the body. "Dean! Can you hear me, boy?!" he hollered, scanning through the diner.

A silent cough came from somewhere, and the hunters pricked their ears. Sam slid his hand under the jacket and squeezed a handle of the demon-killing knife.

"I'm…" Another cough, "I'm here."

Both men moved across the room to the direction from where the weak, hoarse voice came from.

"Dean!" Sam was first to spy his big brother, slumped against the wall in the corner. There was blood trailing over his face from his eyes, but they were closed so Sam couldn't see the condition of them. He sucked a breath. "Dean, are you alright?" he asked softly, crouching down and putting a hand on the older Winchester's shoulder.

Dean flinched from the touch, but then realized that it was his baby brother, so he gripped his hand like it was a lifeline. "Peachy…" he growled out as he let Sam support him. "Vision a bit blurry, though," he added, after finally getting the courage to open his eyes. He winced when the daylight hit them.

A short chuckle left Sam's mouth, his body relaxing once he saw those green orbs, unfocused and glazed over, but at least intact. "Be happy that you still have your eyes, man."

"What happened?" Bobby inquired, grabbing Dean from the other side to help him walk.

"That was Castiel," Dean answered, unable to hide his irritation and anger. "And _that_ ," he waved around him, showing that he meant the diner, "was demons. All of them. They were the ones we were looking for."

Bobby tensed. "There are like six or seven corpses."

"Yep. They ambushed me the moment I stepped over the threshold, started asking questions."

Sam frowned. "What kind of questions?" he asked, motioning Bobby to take all Dean's weight while he opened the Impala's passenger door.

"About how or why I was pulled out of Hell."

The hunters lowered the oldest Winchester into the seat and shared a baffled glance between each other. The sirens in the background spurred them into fleeing the scene.

* * *

Dean blew all the air out of his lungs in delight as he draped a cold, wet towel over his eyes. He was sprawled across the bed in Sam's hotel room, trying not to think about how to kill his younger sibling for the stint in the diner. The little bastard saved him from demons, despite the obviously wrong way to do it.

"So," Sam started uncertain, "–demons know diddly-squat about what's happening."

"Apparently," Dean agreed. _'At least not a cannon fodder'_ , he added in his mind.

"How're you doing, kid?" Bobby's voice drifted from somewhere in the room.

"My eyes are killing me."

Sam frowned at his brother. "Maybe we should take you to the hospital."

"Nah. Just let me take a nap, and I'll be as good as new."

"Dean–"

"Sam."

The weariness in his big brother's voice was all that was needed for Sam to shut up. He observed Dean getting more comfortable for sleep, and dozing off almost immediately.

Sam started to pace around the room, occasionally glancing at the sleeping form in the bed. Finally, Bobby sighed in surrender and invited him to talk outside. They settled down in an empty lounge area, around the corner from the room.

Bobby opened his mouth to ask what'd gotten into Sam, but the boy spoke first, "We need to summon that damn thing, Bobby."

The older man gawked at him. "You can't be serious."

"I can, and I am."

"We don't even know what it is. It could be a demon. It could be anything. Hell, it could be an angel like Dean said."

"The problem is Dean!" Sam raised his voice, exasperated.

Bobby scoffed. "Meaning?"

"Something is wrong. He still feels like Dean, but… something is off. Like Pamela have said. What if…" Sam bit his lower lip nervously, like debating to say what was troubling him or not. Finally, he ran a hand through his hair, and continued, "What if there is something inside Dean that even Pamela couldn't detect?"

Bobby's brows furrowed into a worried frown. "You think demon possesses your brother?"

"No! Yeah… I don't know, Bobby. I mean, those people in the diner… Their eyes were burned out of their skulls. Remember what Dean said at Pamela's?" The other hunter's eyes lit up with realization. "What if whatever is riding shotgun in Dean, killed them? We don't have any proof that they were demons, either. The only one who knows something is this Castiel creature."

Bobby mulled over Sam's words for a minute, then heaved a heavy sigh and summarized his thoughts, "This is a bad idea."

"I know, but we have to do something!"

"What about Dean? Do you want to take him with us, or just leave him here?"

Sam glanced at the direction where his room was. "We go without him. Dean's sleeping, so we may return before he even wakes up."

"Or not return at all…" Bobby muttered, standing from his seat. Sam shot him a bitch face, and the older man lifted his hands in a mock surrender. "Alright, alright. No need to get your panties in a twist."

* * *

" **Dean Winchester.** "

An angel's call in his true voice woke Dean up as the pain sliced into his skull, and his hands shot to cover his ears instinctively. It was less painful than last time at the gas station, the piece of Michael's grace giving at least some kind of protection, but Dean was still too human and not enough angel to withstand Castiel speaking unscathed.

" **We need to talk.** "

Dean threw a blanket on, trying to protect himself from the shower of shards as the windows exploded, and the mirror on the room's ceilings cracked.

" **It is of great importance.** "

The mirror shattered, and pieces of it loudly smashed onto the floor. Dean clenched his teeth, feeling blood trickling from his ears. And when an angel stopped speaking, his whole body sagged in relief.

Dean whipped blanket away and yelled at the top of his lungs, "Screw you!" For a while he just lay on the bed, trying to get rid of the ringing in his ears and entertaining an idea to strangle Castiel once they would meet for the first time. Seriously, that guy needed to get a clue already and understand that they couldn't communicate that way.

Dean carefully opened his eyes and cheered that his eyesight was back to normal. He looked around the room, but there weren't any indications that either Sam or Bobby was here. Dean glanced over all the mess, crunching his face in defiance. There was no way that he was going to clean this up. Nope!

Spotting Sam's laptop on the nightstand, Dean grinned. Fortunately, it survived the onslaught of an angel's true voice, and Dean eagerly dived into searching for anything that could be a sign of another piece of the archangel's grace.

After an hour, Dean started to get worried. He picked his cell phone up to make a call to Sam, but suddenly stopped and tilted his head. Something in angels' constant stream of chatter caught his attention – Castiel was asking for advice of what course of actions he should take because some humans were trying to summon him. The archangel snorted. Summon an angel. Who would be stupid enough to even try to summon an ang–

Dean's thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the answer hit him like a ton of bricks.

Sam and Bobby.


	6. Chapter V

 

 

Sam was pacing around the barn restlessly like a wild animal in a cage. Bobby was seated on one of the tables with a shotgun in his lap, whistling a tune he remembered from an old TV advertisement.

"It's been an hour already!" Sam suddenly cried out, brushing his hair through in frustration. "You sure you did the ritual right?"

The older hunter gave him a pointed look.

Sam blew the air out of his lungs, his eyes briefly sweeping across all the symbols painted on the walls and floor. "So, what's taking him so long?"

Bobby shrugged. "Maybe he doesn't want to come," he offered.

Before the Winchester could retort, the whole barn shook for an unknown reason. Both hunters tensed up, clenching their guns and looking around warily. The roof rattled, loud bangs echoing in the empty building. Suddenly the lamps exploded, spreading bright sparks of glass on the ground and two humans. The wooden beam which secured the main door cracked and broke in two as the barn door slowly swung open.

A man in a suit and a trench coat with disheveled black hair and a blank look on his face walked in. He stepped over the thick salt line at the threshold with ease, and casually strolled forward, paying no attention to the exploding lamps or various protection symbols and devil traps.

The hunters raised their shotguns. Lightning struck outside and illuminated the barn's interior. Their eyes widened as for a moment a shadowy silhouette of a pair of huge wings appeared on the walls behind the stranger.

Bobby pulled the trigger, but the man seemed to not even notice the rock salt hitting his chest. Sam lowered his weapon without shooting, unable to shake a sudden foreboding feeling.

The man stopped a few steps from the hunters, his sharp blue eyes quickly sweeping the surroundings and then fixing on the younger Winchester. "Where is Dean?" he asked.

Sam narrowed his eyes. "Who are you?"

"I am Castiel."

"What are you?" Bobby inquired while Sam asked at the same time, "What did you do to Dean?"

Castiel's eyes flickered to the older man. "I am an angel of the Lord," he deadpanned. His gaze returned to Sam, "I am the one who gripped Dean tight and raised him from perdition."

"Oh my god…" Sam whispered in awe. Dean was right – he had been raised from Hell by an angel! Then Sam realized what he'd just said and sputtered, "Er, uh, I didn't mean to– Sorry."

Bobby shot the younger man an incredulous glance, before glaring at the angel. "What do you need from Dean?"

"I need to speak with him. It is important," Castiel answered without skipping a beat, "Where is he?"

"I'm here."

Dean's voice startled the hunters. Their eyes snapped to the entrance, expecting to see the pissed off older Winchester, but Dean looked thoughtful. He was leaning on the door frame with his arms folded across his chest, sunken in deep contemplation as he gazed upon the angel.

While ascending from Hell, Dean was only a confused and frightened human. Even if he regained his angelic memories at the end, there was no way for him to recognize the angel who rescued him. However, with a piece of his grace back, the fallen archangel could access the knowledge about his every sibling engraved into his mind from the beginning of time. He had never met the younger angel before when he was still just Michael, but he knew about him. Extremely loyal and a good soldier, never questioning of his orders, Castiel was one of the youngest garrison captains. That was a great achievement on its own, considering that he was not even a Seraph.

Dean's eyes shifted to the angel's wings and he felt his heart ache with guilt and unease. The feathers of the wings' base were of deep bronze color, but the rest of them were an unhealthy looking mass of black feathers, representing the unclean state of the one's grace.

Castiel was still healing from his trip to the bottom layers of Hell and the state of his wings was entirely Dean's fault. The angel absorbed his taint into himself, even though the archangel was sure that he didn't have to. If he, Michael, would have been the one to give the order to save the Righteous Man from Hell, he would have said firmly not to cleanse his soul. It would have made his vessel more pliant and susceptible to persuasions to say 'Yes' once the time had arrived.

"We need to talk, Dean," Castiel said, oblivious of the sad scrutiny he was receiving from the man.

"Yes. Yes, we do," the older Winchester agreed, turning around and beckoning the angel to follow him. "We can talk outside. Alone."

Castiel promptly moved after him, without as much as a glance towards the other two humans like they were not even there. Sam and Bobby shared a glance, and Bobby shook his head. Sam sighed, frowning slightly at the angel's back disappearing through the doorway.

Dean was not feeling very confident in this upcoming talk with the younger angel. Both his sides – human and archangel – hated to appear weak, and currently, he had no power whatsoever. He couldn't let his siblings know who he truly was, at least not until he got his first pair of wings back.

Dean turned to face Castiel once he reached his car, his back resting against the side of the Impala giving him some semblance of safety. "So, what do you want to talk about with me?" he asked as nonchalantly as he could muster. "You know, now when you're not trying to blow my eardrums up."

Castiel stared at him, his intense blue eyes drilling deep into Dean's green ones. "That was my mistake. Apologies," he said before cocking his head to one side. "I am… surprised that you can perceive my true voice, but it still has hurt you."

Dean shrugged, then waved his hand dismissively. "Doesn't matter now." He paused. "So, why would an angel rescue me from Hell?"

"You know who I am," the angel said thoughtfully.

"I remember the being that lifted me up. Figured that it can't be anything else than an angel."

"You remember?" Castiel echoed, his gaze intensifying even more, and Dean folded his arms in front of his chest almost defensively. "Most intriguing."

"Why'd you do it?"

The younger angel straightened up, his curious expression melting back into a stoic one. "Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you."

"And, uh, did God give you that order personally?" Dean inquired carefully. He had wondered if the mishap in his plan was his missing Father's doing, some sort of fathomless joke of His. After all, Michael had planned to stay human only for one cycle with the intact knowledge of his grace's fragments. If it was due to His intervention and not simply because of his miscalculation, Dean pondered what God tried to achieve by this course of action.

"I am a common soldier," Castiel replied, furrowing his brow. "The order was given by God through the chain of command."

Dean gave him a blank stare. "Right," he muttered. Father probably was still absent from Heaven. It meant that the Host was kick-starting the Apocalypse all by themselves. The archangel frowned. The Righteous Man who began it was the only one who could finish it. Maybe that was His ultimate goal? "What do you want me to do…?" Dean mumbled under his breath, running fingers through his hair in a slight exasperation.

Castiel heard the human's silent question and assumed that it was intended to him. "We need you to be prepared," he informed.

Winchester looked at him again. "Prepared for what?"

"You will be informed of your responsibilities later."

Dean grimaced, thinking what a bunch of dicks his siblings really were. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Castiel's wings twitch and a moment later they spread out, ready for a flight.

"Fine. One more question, though," the fallen archangel said. "This handprint scar," he motioned at his shoulder, "-what's this about?"

There was a sudden, careful stillness in Castiel's demeanor. He glanced at Dean's shoulder, then back at his face. Dean raised an eyebrow, waiting for an answer, but it never came – in a flutter of wings the younger angel was gone.

"Huh," Dean uttered an amused grunt, a smirk tugging the edges of his lips. Little Castiel's reaction was quite unexpected, but interesting nonetheless.

* * *

Dean was sprawled on the couch, a thick book in his lap as he apathetically scanned its contents. In one hand he held a bottle of beer, and he sipped from it slowly, trying to savor its taste and smell while he still could, while he still was more human than angel. With his free hand, he heedlessly flipped the page and heaved a heavy, overdramatic sigh.

Bobby shot him a glare from across the room. He was sitting at his desk, hunched over his own reading material behind the wall of various tomes and books piled on the desk in seemingly no order at all.

Sam apparently wasn't bothered by the silent whining of his brother. He paced back and forth at the side of the room, an open book in his hand as he perused it with furrowed brow in deep concentration.

Just after returning from Pontiac to Bobby's place, they decided to do thorough research about angels. Well, Sam and Bobby decided, Dean hadn't really voiced his opinion because there was nothing he didn't already know about himself or his younger siblings. So, here he was, stuck with reading for the second day in a row, going crazy from boredom.

Suddenly Sam stopped in his restless pacing and snorted, an amused smile appearing on his face. "Hey, listen to this," he said, not lifting his eyes to see if any of the two other hunters were even listening. " _The four Archangels are believed to be the oldest entities in all the creation,_ " he read, tracing the line in the book with his finger. " _Michael, the Prince of the Archangels and of the Angelic Host, with the wings colored as the setting sun; Lucifer, the Light Bearer, with the pure white wings, serene as the moon; Raphael–_ "

"Wait," Bobby interrupted him, "Lucifer? Like, the Devil Lucifer?"

"Uh." Sam quickly swept the rest of text and shrugged, but then something caught his attention. "Ah, here. _It was Lucifer who rebelled against God and who through pride, coveted the Throne of God and the worship that belonged to God alone. This resulted in a mighty war in Heaven. Lucifer, along with one-third of the angelic host was defeated by the Archangel Michael and was cast down from Heaven to the earth where he became known as 'Satan', 'Adversary' as well as 'Devil'_."

Dean pursed his lips into a thin line and scowled. That was not entirely true. Lucifer never wanted to take God's place. He might have been full of pride, but all he ever wanted was to be acknowledged by their Father. To be loved by Him like he was before humans were created. Egotistical bastard.

"That raises a sticky question," the oldest hunter muttered thoughtfully. "If angels exist, does that mean the Devil is real, too?"

Sam screwed his face like he suddenly tasted something very sour.

Dean cleared his throat. "Maybe that guy, uh, Michael would help to deal with him again," he suggested, a bit awkwardly, but hid it by taking a big gulp of his beer.

The younger Winchester shrugged a shoulder. "Maybe," he said, doubt clear in his voice.

The archangel stared at him. He knew that his human brother had always believed in God, and in addition had been really stoked after meeting the real angel, Castiel. So, why he was suddenly doubting? Losing his faith?

"Well, angels might be major dicks, but who knows if Michael is not on our side?" Dean offered with a grin.

"Dude, he's known as the Wrath of Heaven and…" Sam looked at his book, flipped the page forward and read out loudly. " _As a patron angel of righteousness and justice, the Archangel Michael can rain a Fire of Judgment upon those he deems sinners and unworthy of mercy and salvation._ "

Bobby sighed. "Sounds like a pleasant guy," he muttered. "The kind of guy you don't want to meet in a dark alley."

"And humanity is known as a cradle of sin," Sam added.

Dean narrowed his eyes at his youngest brother. There was something in his voice, his words, his body language that bothered the archangel. He shifted his gaze to Sam's soul. Upon seeing it currently so dim and almost drowned in all the taint, it clicked. "Do you think of yourself as unworthy of salvation, Sammy?" the question left his mouth before Dean could swallow it down.

Sam froze. His eyes instantly snapped at the older man, numerous emotions flashing through them. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out.

"It's easy for you to talk, Mr. My-ass-was-touched-by-an-angel," Bobby grumbled, concentrating on the book on his desk again.

Dean frowned. "Cas didn't touch my ass."

Sam smirked. "He said that he 'gripped you tight'," he quipped, putting an emphasis on the last three words, and then grinned at the sight of an absolute horror etching on his older brother's face.

"Whoa, man, I don't swing that way!" Dean exclaimed, jumping from the couch. "And besides, he's an angel, for Christ sake!" _And my little brother_ , he added in his mind.

Sam burst into laughter, and even Bobby snorted and shook his head amused by Dean's reaction.

"Damn, now I need some pie…" the older Winchester murmured, strolling to the kitchen. He opened the fridge and glared at its content. "There's no more pie!" he whined.

Still sporting a huge smile, Sam put his book on the desk. "I'll do a grocery run," he volunteered.

"Don't forget the pie!" the fallen archangel yelled slamming the fridge's door close.

"Dude!" the younger man bristled as he grabbed the car keys. "When have I ever forgotten the pie?"

* * *

Sam gripped the driving wheel so hard that his knuckles went white, the same question going round and round in his head.

' _Do you think of yourself as unworthy of salvation, Sammy?_ '

Did he? Probably. He did so many bad, nasty and ugly things throughout his life that not even an angel would be willing to grant him forgiveness. Definitely not when demon blood was coursing through his veins. If his and the archangel Michael's paths would ever cross, he'd probably be smitted on the spot.

Sam scoffed at his own line of thoughts. Why was he even musing about it?

' _Do you think of yourself as unworthy of salvation, Sammy?_ '

Damn. Dean had been way too observant after he returned from the dead. Maybe even more mature, regardless that he seemed happier than before. Sam had to remind himself that it was forty years for Dean downstairs, and forty years was a very long period of time to be tortured non-stop.

Sam noticed Ruby as soon as the Impala rolled into the grocery shop's parking lot. He climbed out and quickly walked towards her. The demon was observing him intently, her eyes darting around anxiously. If Sam didn't know better, he'd assume that Ruby was frightened.

"Where have you been, Ruby? I tried to call you."

"Yeah, about that…" She frowned, peering straight into the human's eyes. "Is it true, Sam?"

"Is what true?"

"Was it an angel who rescued Dean from Hell?"

Sam blinked. He opened his mouth and closed it again. "You've heard," he finally said.

"Who hasn't?" Ruby chuckled bitterly. "I went to investigate Dean's gravesite. No demon or other creature of the dark can take a step in that place. It's more purified than Vatican itself. No other being I know can swing that. And…" she trailed off, chewing on her lower lip nervously.

Sam frowned. "And?" he prompted.

Ruby looked him dead in the eye. "And I heard gossips that Heaven's army laid siege on Hell."

Winchester's eyebrows rose to his hairline. "Just to save Dean?" he asked, stunned by the implication of those words.

"So, it's true, after all?" Ruby heaved a sigh, brushing her fingers through her hair. After a pause, she mumbled under her breath, "No wonder Dean felt so strange…"

Sam felt his heart sink as dread slowly crawled under his skin. "Whoa, whoa, wait. What do you mean? Something wrong with Dean?"

Ruby glanced at him. "He's…" She paused, her lips forming a thin line and she knitted her brow in thought. "His soul was purified, cleansed by an angel. He's… untainted now. No human soul I've seen has such purity. Even newborns have some taint left from their previous lives."

"Okay," Sam said, trying to grasp what the demon just revealed and why she seemed so on edge. "That's not a bad thing, right?"

Ruby scowled. Her eyes shifted to the side and for a moment she was silent. "Dean's an enigma and that's scaring me," she confessed, her voice just above the whisper.

The hunter's eyes widened. That was unexpected, to say the least. "What?" he asked incredulously, his lips quirking up into a smile because that had to be a joke. It had to be. "You're kidding, right?"

Ruby gave him a blank stare. "And the angels… they scare the holy hell out of me. They smite first and never stop to ask any questions," she continued. "Angels are not the merciful type, Sam. Watch yourself."

The Winchester scoffed. "I'm not scared of angels."

"You should be," the demon muttered before turning around and quickly walking away.


	7. Chapter VI

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> English is not my native language, but this chapter was betaed by TheWorldBookGirl!

Dean frowned in thought as he worked on the rock salt rounds. The Witnesses were rampaging above them in Bobby's house while they hid in the man's newly-built panic room. This was good. The safety of the panic room gave Bobby time to figure out what was happening.

Suddenly Dean stopped, his hand freezing midair as he gave another shell to Sam. Talk about the Seal of the Witnesses began circulating among his siblings. One of the high-ranking angels informed the others that it had been broken. Dean frowned; he knew that it wasn't in Heaven's interest to stop Lucifer from rising, at least as far as the highest order was concerned, but this was honestly ridiculous. The seal had been broken for three days now, and they only shared the news now?

"Dude!" Sam bristled as he grabbed the shell from his older brother.

"Sorry," Dean mumbled.

The younger Winchester shot him a worried glance. "You alright?"

Dean stared at his brother. Sam's face slowly swam out of his sight as his mind wandered to Lucifer and the impending Doomsday again. He just didn't get it. Father loved humanity, probably more than the whole Angelic Host, so why create plans to destroy it? They weren't even the reason why God left Heaven, as some of his siblings believed. Michael was there when He departed, His last words shaking the foundations of his beliefs.

 _"Humans' souls are the purest and most amazing form of creation_ ," God had said, his tired features brightening with that tender smile that Michael hadn't seen in millenniums.  _"I wish you all could see them as I do. A soul can conquer its destiny, Michael. Just lean closer and listen. It will tell you how."_

That's why the oldest archangel did what he had – ripped his grace out and fell to the plane of mortals to be born as a human, to be bestowed a soul of his own, as close as an angel could get to it. Such an un-Michael thing to do, really, but he wanted to understand, to grasp his Father's words, or he probably would have ended up going crazy like Lucifer did.

That didn't help to put a reason behind the Apocalypse however it still made absolutely no sense.

"Dean?"

Michael's eyes focused on Sam's face again, and he didn't need to lean closer to his soul to hear what it was saying. It simply screamed, loud and clear, to protect him, to keep Sammy safe. Such a pure and beautiful soul, tainted for the mere purpose of becoming the skin for his fallen brethren to wear. His Father wanted him to listen to the human's soul, well, he was listening to one. And that was such a strange feeling for the primordial archangel, but nothing, be it angel, demon or any other creature, would touch so much as a hair on his baby brother's head. Not on his watch.

Sam's anxiety rose as Dean just kept staring mutely at him with a strange look in his eyes that he couldn't identify. The young man's brow wrinkled with worry, his hazel-green eyes shifting to the side and meeting the identically troubled gaze of Bobby.

"Dean?" Sam called out again as he reached to touch his brother's hand.

"Yeah, I'm just—" Dean cleared his throat, "—just thinking. What with all the angels suddenly fluttering around and the crazy ghosts." He absentmindedly waved a hand up and down. "Heaven and Hell, and all that jazz in between."

Sam winced at the mention of Hell. After a brief moment, his lips curled into a tight half-smile. "Don't think too hard, you're gonna hurt yourself," he joked, trying to rid of the uneasiness churning in his gut.

Dean put on his bitchface, making Sam's half-smile widen into a full grin. "Speaking from experience?" Dean retorted with a smirk. "Pretty sure I can handle it. I'm not a delicate wallflower like you, Samantha."

Sam shook his head, muttering, "You're such a jerk."

"And you're such a bitch."

"If you two idjits done with your heart to heart," Bobby interrupted their bickering with a fond exasperated grumble. "I have something." He tapped at the thick tome with his pencil. "The symbol you saw, the brand on the ghosts – it's the Mark of the Witness."

"Witness?" Sam asked in confusion. "Witness to what?"

"The unnatural. None of them died what you'd call 'ordinary deaths'. See, these ghosts – they were forced to rise. They woke in agony," Bobby explained. "They're like rabid dogs, and it ain't their fault. Somebody raised them… on purpose."

While the hunter talked, Dean approached his table and peeked at the book.  _Damn_ , Bobby was so good; it truly was amazing. Dean took a few moments to admire the man's ability to find literally any kind of information. Without Bobby Singer, the country's hunter population would have probably been reduced by half, if not more.

"This is a sign, boys," Bobby continued grimly.

Sam stopped next to his brother, folding his arms in front of him and frowning. "A sign of what?"

The older man heaved a heavy sigh before he leaned against his chair and looked up at the two siblings. "The Apocalypse."

An uncomfortable silence settled after that revelation. Sam glanced at Dean, then back at Bobby. "As in… biblical Apocalypse? End of the world?"

"Yea, that's the one," the older hunter agreed. "The Rise of the Witnesses is like a mile marker."

"Okay… So, what do we do now?"

Dean snorted. "We stock up on toilet paper." The other two men fixed him with incredulous stares, and the fallen archangel raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Sam gave a frustrated sigh. "This is serious, Dean."

"Of course, dude! Nothing is more serious than the Armageddon. That's why I'm being practical here. You're gonna thank me, believe me."

A small, genuine smile that graced his baby brother's lips, even if it was short-lived, was the goal Dean was trying to achieve, and he grinned in success.

"Before ya start your conquest to monopolize the toilet paper, boy, we need to deal with our friends up there," Bobby said, waving a hand and tapping his notes with his pencil. "There's a spell to send the Witnesses back to rest. Should work... And I think I have everything we need at the house."

"Alright!" Dean exclaimed with more cheerfulness than the situation required. "Let's do it!"

* * *

Sam flew up the stairs two at the time and rounded the corner, zeroing in on the closet door at the end of the hallway. He quickly swept the narrow surroundings with his eyes. Nothing was out of order. He strode forward, gripping his shotgun tightly, ready to use it at any given moment.

Sam reached the closet without any incident and promptly started searching for the red hex box, pushing linens out of the way.

"Sam."

The hunter spun around, fluidly lifting his weapon at the same time, the finger on the trigger… and froze. It seemed that something sapped his strength with lightning speed, because his hands started to shake and the shotgun suddenly felt impossibly heavy.

She stood at the other end of the hallway, looking exactly the same as before, just as beautiful as Sam remembered her to be. A long white dress gave her a regal, ethereal air, so pure and innocent, her long golden hair framing her pale face like a bright halo. Even the small birthmark between her eyebrows was still in its place, and Sam recalled how she hated that it was slightly off center and how he had kissed it over and over again, telling her how perfect she was…

"Jess…" Sam breathed.

The ghost smiled, and the hunter's gun slipped from his limp fingers and clattered loudly on the floor. It was Jess. The woman he truly loved, the woman he lost, the woman he killed…

"Sam," Jess said softly, slowly walking forward until she was right in front of him, and, God, Sam could swear he could smell that familiar scent of strawberry and mint shampoo, which was beyond the bounds of possibility because Jess was dead, dead, dead, dead, burned on the ceiling of their bedroom. He knew he should grab the shotgun, put a salt round through her head, and bring that box to Bobby.

But instead of doing any of that, he only whispered, "I'm sorry."

"I know you are, baby," Jess replied, her voice quiet and soothing. She cupped the hunter's face with her cold hands and looked into his eyes. "But that doesn't change the fact what you did to me." She was still smiling as her hands moved down and stopped on his chest. "Doesn't mean that it wasn't your fault."

Sam gasped as one of her petite hands pierced his skin, slender fingers sliding between his ribs, tearing his flesh and sending waves of agonizing pain throughout his body.

The ghost's smile vanished and her expression twisted into a snarl. "Your 'sorry' doesn't give me back my life, Sam!" she yelled, pushing her hand further.

And with crisp clarity, Sam realized that she was right, that he agreed with her whole-heartedly, that even if he could do something, he wouldn't. He'd screwed up once and Jess, the love of his life, had paid the price. He'd screwed up again and Dean was torn to shreds by hellhounds and dragged to Hell, where he was tortured for forty years.

He deserved this, all of it. They were his sins, after all.

Blackness threatened to overtake his consciousness when Sam heard someone calling his name in the distance.

"Sam!" Dean skidded into the hallway, almost crashing into the opposite wall. As soon as his frantic gaze landed on his brother and Jess, his eyes widened. "Shit. Hold on, Sammy!" he cried out, already sprinting towards the two. Once he was at an angle where he could shoot his shotgun without hitting Sam, he didn't waver in the slightest.

The ghost dispersed. Sam breathed in a painful gulp of air before collapsing where he stood.

"Sam?" Dean was instantly next to him, quickly inspecting the wound on his chest. He put his hand under his brother's chin, lifted his head up and brushed a stray hair away to see his eyes. "Sammy? You hear me?"

"I'm sorry, Dean…"

That was definitely not what Dean had expected to hear, and he frowned in confusion. "Dude, it's not your fault that the ghost jumped you."

"No, not that," Sam fervently shook his head and gripped Dean's jacket, seemingly trying to shake him and make him understand what he was saying. "You went to Hell for me… I… I'm sorry."

"Hey, hey, look at me, Sam!" Dean tapped his brother's cheek to force him to look at him, and once Sam did, Dean caught the gaze of his regretful, hazel-green eyes and held it. "That was my decision, you hear me? You can't be responsible for other person's decisions. But if you want forgiveness, I forgive you, Sammy. For everything." A faint smile tugged at Dean's lips as he made a quick motion of brushing his thumb across Sam's forehead. "And my word on this matter carries a lot of weight." He maneuvered himself so that he could haul his little brother's gigantic frame up from the floor. "Now, come on, kiddo, snap out of it. We need to help Bobby to put these poor souls to rest."

"Yeah, alright," Sam muttered, too exhausted to argue. Dean just didn't realize what he had done, what he was –  _the freak with a demon blood in his veins_  – and how truly unworthy he was of his forgiveness.

* * *

**-few hours later-**

Dean woke with a start. Something slipped from his lap and tumbled onto the floor with an expensive-sounding clunk, but the archangel ignored it, trying to figure out what had woken him and when he'd fallen asleep in the first place.

It was still in the middle of the night. The house was shrouded in darkness. The only light came from a single bulb outside the kitchen window that emanated a ghostly light, giving the room an eerie aura.

Dean was lying on the couch in Bobby's study where Sam was supposed to be sleeping, while he'd chosen to crash on the sleeping-bag next to it. He willed his brains to remember how he ended up here asleep. He was browsing the Internet on Sam's laptop, searching for any kind of sign of the archangel's grace, and he actually found a promising lead. He must have dozed off then.

"Crap…" Dean cursed. He reluctantly glanced down and there it was – Sam's laptop just lying there with some plastic pieces scattered around it. Dean swung his legs out and rubbed his face. Oh, Sam would be pissed and would probably throw a bitchy tantrum about how–

"Wait," the archangel murmured. Something was not right here. He looked around, pulling his eyebrows together. "This is…" Dean peeked over the door frame into the kitchen and saw Castiel leaning against the cupboard and flexing his still healing wings, waiting.

Dean dropped his head in his palms with a sigh. A dream. Well, at least it wasn't the nightmare drowned in blood, soaked in Hell's stench, and full of screams of the damned. What happened back downstairs, all those long forty years of torture, it never really fazed the archangel, but during sleep, his human consciousness took over and had its fun with him. Michael was surely not going to miss it once he wouldn't need to sleep anymore.

Dean stood up and walked into the kitchen. "Castiel," he greeted the younger angel.

"Excellent job with the Witnesses."

"Thanks." Dean eyed his angelic brother, subtly glancing at his wings when one of them shuddered and Castiel grimaced.

Some of the black feathers laid misaligned and several of them appeared to be broken. They were starting to loosen up already – Castiel was going into molt to clean his wings from all the tainted, damaged, and decaying plumage. That was the only way to purify one's grace, even if the process was an uncomfortable and quite often painful ordeal.

"You don't look too hot," Dean noted, his voice laced with concern.

"I do not feel heat or coldness," the angel replied coolly.

The hunter snorted in amusement. "No, I mean that you look tired," he clarified.

Castiel tilted his head slightly to the side and stared intently at the human in front of him, curious and analyzing. "You are worried about me," he observed, a frown settling on his features like he didn't know what to do with this information.

"Uh… Well… We're buddies, right?" Dean replied with a smile. "You saved me from Hell, and I'm gonna help st– do whatever your boss wants me to do." He paused. "Speaking of Hell… I don't think I said this yet." Green eyes met the blue ones. "Thank you."

Castiel seemed startled by such sincere words, clearly not expecting them. "I was merely fulfilling my duty," he said, but a tiny upward curve on his lips showed how truly pleased he felt because of Dean's gratitude. "But you are welcome."

The hunter leaned next to the angel and after a short companionable silence spoke, "Bobby says that we're dealing with the Apocalypse."

"Yes," Castiel confirmed. "That is why we are here, walking among you for the first time in two thousand years." When he didn't hear any comment, he continued, "The Rising of the Witnesses is one of the sixty-six seals. Those seals are being broken by Lilith."

"What will happen when the last seal breaks?"

There was a brief pause before Castiel shifted so that he could gaze straight into human's eyes to convey how grim this whole situation was. "Lucifer walks free."

Dean schooled his expression into a neutral one, because now wasn't a good time to ponder on his failure to save his rebellious brother. Definitely not. "And angels are here to stop this from happening."

Castiel nodded.

"I guess this seal was broken. How are the others doing?"

"Some we will save, some we will lose." The angel turned his head to the side, as if he couldn't look Dean into the eyes any longer, and glared at nothing in particular. "We are trying, but our numbers are not unlimited."

The hunter hummed before putting forward another question, "How many of you are down here?"

Instantly, Castiel looked deflated and even wearier. His shoulders sagged and his wings drooped. "Not enough," he admitted quietly.

Dean's lips twitched down in a small frown.

Michael had been gone for at least a few centuries. Granted, he had left half of his grace up there to conceal the absence of Heaven's ruler. The lower circles of his siblings wouldn't notice, but Raphael definitely had. It would be in his best interest to stall and put everything on hold to do just that until Michael was found.

But none of that was apparently happening. That made no sense.

It meant that Raphael either didn't know that Michael was gone, and the whole Angelic Host was in for a big nasty surprise, or his fellow archangel had plans to somehow win against Lucifer by himself. Raphael knew his capabilities; he was not an idiot. He was not strong enough to do that. He had to have something, some kind of ace up in his sleeve…

Dean paled as the thought struck him like Raphael's lightning. The younger archangel had half of Michael's grace at his arm's reach. Unprotected, raw grace that would give him an edge he needed against Lucifer or anyone else, for that matter.

But Raphael wouldn't dare to do it, would he? It was just an assumption. Raphael wouldn't steal half of his essence just to fulfill some stupid prophecy, right?

The possibility of his younger brother's betrayal stung more than a knife through his heart ever could.

"Dean?"

A feather-light touch on his forehead and Castiel's grace carefully reaching for him jolted Dean out of his bubbling panic and his eyes snapped back to the angel's face. A face that was an inch or so from his own. Talk about an incomprehension of the personal space. "Dude," he grumbled, stepping back.

"You need not fear," Castiel said, observing the hunter closely. "We shall prevail."

"Yeah…" Dean flashed a wobbly grin, then glanced at the fridge, wondering if the content was the same in the dream as it was in reality. More likely, this was a dream projection created by Castiel, a space and time between dream and reality, so some parts bound to be real. With a shrug, the archangel opened the door and peeked inside. "Want a beer?" he asked, briefly looking back at Castiel.

The angel seemed puzzled, his brow furrowing in a  _humans-are-confusing_  way. "I do not require an alcoholic substance."

Dean rolled his eyes. "If you talk like that, you certainly do," he stated as a matter-of-fact. He picked up two bottles, uncapped them, and offered one for his sibling.

The latter took it cautiously like the bottle would attack him at any given moment and stared at it in bafflement. After a few seconds, he took a small experimental sip.

The fallen archangel grinned wide and bright at the expression on the younger angel's face – something between disgust and wonder. "So, how is it?" he inquired, amused.

"It tastes like molecules."

Dean couldn't help it – he melted into a fit of laughter.

* * *

Dean woke up slowly and lazily, tasting the bitterness of beer on his tongue. Realizing that he was sleeping on the couch as he had been in the dream projection, he carefully patted around his lap. When he didn't feel Sam's laptop anywhere on him, he dared to open one eye and look around.

The laptop was sitting safely on Bobby's desk.

"Thank goodness," Dean mumbled, blowing all the air out of his lungs in a relieved sigh that that particular part was only a dream. He threw an arm over his eyes and frowned underneath it.

If he was right about Raphael's plans, Dean needed to pick up a speed in the search of his grace pieces. The assimilation of other angel's grace into your own was feasible, especially for the archangel. It still was a dangerous process, so Raphael would not risk absorbing Michael's grace right now when Lucifer was still in his cage. Dean himself couldn't take in that half at the current moment either – his vessel wouldn't be able to survive. That's why he needed to collect the other four pieces before doing that. The lead he found was worth checking out.

Dean heaved himself up and quickly scanned the room, searching for Sam. He couldn't leave his youngest brother right now, not when he was so fragile after seeing Jess again and almost getting killed by her, but he also didn't know how to explain why he wanted to check this out without making Sam suspicious.

This hide-and-seek game was a pain in an ass.

Dean walked to the kitchen. The sun was just rising and it was still fairly dark outside. A figure sitting on the front porch stairs caught his attention and he squinted to see who it was.

Sam.

He grabbed two beers from the refrigerator and stepped outside. The wooden floor of the porch creaked quietly under his boots, but Sam didn't glance back to see who was coming from behind, his eyes never leaving the far-away line of the forest's edge.

Brilliant hues of orange and gold coated the wide expanse of sky where the sun was just starting to peek over the horizon.

"Sammy," Dean called softly. His brow furrowed lightly as the haunted hazel-green eyes turned up to meet his gaze. He didn't make any comment, instead offering the beer to him. Sam took it with a distant 'thanks', but showed no signs of wanting to drink it.

Dean sat down next to his youngest brother, not too close to be crowding his personal space, but enough that his shoulder brushed over Sam's. "Have you slept?" he asked carefully.

Sam stiffened and his hold on the bottle tightened. A handful of emotions flashed through his features before the walls of defenses suddenly slammed into place.

The archangel observed him, wanting nothing more than to wipe that expression clear off of his face, to lighten his burden, to give him what he truly deserved. He wanted to ask Sam how he felt, how he could help. The urge to shake Sam and scream at him until he believed that none of that was his fault, that  _Jess_  wasn't his sin to carry, that everything that had happened to them was a deliberate plan to steer Winchesters towards this exact point.

Yet, Dean said nothing. Words were useless in this situation, because Sam was Winchester through and through, and the Winchesters never shared their aches and pains. They were always "fine", and even when the weight of the world threatened to crush them, the Winchesters never agreed to divide it with the others.

So, Dean stayed silent. He shifted his eyes away from his baby brother and settled them on the horizon. After a moment, he felt the tension slowly bleeding out of Sam's shoulders, his stiff muscles relaxing, and his walls cracking.

Minutes ticked away as they just sat there on Bobby's porch, their drinks untouched.

Sam eventually lifted his hand and rubbed his face tiredly, then brushed his fingers through his hair. "I just… I really haven't expected to see her," he confessed reluctantly.

"Those spirits weren't in their right mind, Sam."

"I know, I know," the younger hunter hurriedly said before sighing. "Doesn't mean that what she said isn't true."

"Sam–"

"God, I hope she's safe now," he interrupted, and the archangel let him. "I hope she's up there… You know, in Heaven. Angels exist, Hell exists, so Heaven should be real too, right?"

Dean frowned, stealing a glance towards his brother. He was surprised to see that Sam was staring at him with pleading eyes, waiting for a confirmation of his theory. "Heaven is real, but…the Witnesses, they, uh, they don't return to Heaven."

Sam's eyes widened and his face drained of all the blood. "W-What?" he croaked out, his voice full of pure horror.

"The souls that are raised as Witnesses are marked by the spell. They don't go back to Heaven, instead, they get reborn and move through the reincarnation cycles until their souls are cleansed from any residue of that spell," Dean explained. A small smile tugged the corner of his lips up as he added, "After nine months, Jess will be screaming her newborn's lungs out somewhere in this world."

Sam blinked. "How do you know that?"

"Castiel told me," the archangel lied smoothly. "He visited me in the dreams."

A scowl etched onto the younger Winchester's features as he relaxed a tiny bit and stared at the beer in his hands. "That's a good thing, right?" he asked after a moment. "The reincarnation?"

"Well, life is not always only smiles and the sunshine, more often than not, it sucks," Dean stated honestly. "But humans have a lot of good things too. Classic cars. Showers. Metallica. Beer. Sex." He smiled an easy grin before his expression softened into a fond look as he gazed at Sam. "Family."

Sam ducked his head down, suddenly feeling awkward and embarrassed, a bit of red dusting his cheeks. The way Dean had said that, with so much love and affection, spread the warmth throughout all his chest and seeped into his very soul.

Even if he was so unworthy of that kind of devotion.

"Jess will be fine," Dean assured. "And this Apocalypse will not interfere with her new life, because we're gonna stop it." He lifted his beer. "Together."

Sam's lips curled into a small smile. He brought forward his own bottle and clinked it into Dean's. "Together."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to pop up again and say that angels in my story will be much more powerful than they are in the original show. Humans and demons won't be able to handle them with such ease, especially archangels. Also, wings, 'cause I'm a wing freak lol So, yes, my angels have feathery wings and they will be a big part of their social expressions. However, wings are not fragile, they're used as weapons in angel fights.
> 
> One more thing, I might leave Hendrickson alive, just because I have this plot in mind for the future. I know I wrote AU from season 4, but can we simply ignore the ending of that particular episode and pretend that Lilith did not visit the police station after boys left?
> 
> Well, leave a comment what's your opinion on this :)


	8. Chapter VII

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I scare all the Betareaders away for reasons unknown, so this chapter is not betaed yet again. I'm really sorry about that, especially that this chapter is not the best I've ever written (kinda running dry at the moment, so I'm happy for managing to squeeze at least this much), but I didn't updated anything in a while and I can hear my readers demanding my blood, so I wanted to publish something. Hopefully, you'll enjoy. Please, leave a word or two before leaving, writers thrive on reviews :)

Dean was not even halfway to a full awareness from his uneasy, nightmare induced sleep, when his instincts were already screaming at him that someone was looming over him. It definitely wasn't Sam. Living all their lives together where life and death situations were as common as morning cups of coffee, they subconsciously had marked each other as a non-threat.

The unfamiliar presence drew a bit closer, and Dean's hand slid under the pillow, fingers curling around the handle of his trusty hunting knife.

"Hello, Dean."

In a blink of an eye, the hunter pulled the knife out, twisted around and thrust it at the enemy with a deadly precision. Albeit his mind wasn't fully awake yet, he was driven purely by his instincts. When he blinked away the remnants of his sleep, it turned out that it wasn't the enemy at all. Stifling a yawn and sitting up, he greeted the unexpected guest, "Castiel."

The angel glared at the knife embedded in his chest with a confused frown etched between his eyebrows.

"Sorry, reflexes," Dean said, his lips twitching into a smirk. "You shouldn't stand over a sleeping hunter like that. It's dangerous."

Castiel's eyes flicked up to look at the human. "My apologies," he said while yanking the knife out, his posture as stoic as ever.

Dean chuckled quietly at the absurdity of this situation. Maybe he shouldn't be sleeping with a knife in his reach when his reflexes were so much sharper now due to the first piece of the archangel's grace. He scrubbed a hand down his face, trying to get rid of any left-over sleepiness. "So, what is it?"

"You have to stop it."

"Stop what?" the hunter asked. When Castiel failed to elaborate, he dropped his hand and glanced at him. Two fingers gently touched his forehead…

…and then Dean woke up again. Outside. In the middle of some unfamiliar town. On the hard wooden bench. By a cop telling him that he couldn't sleep here. "Awesome," he muttered, slowly sitting up and looking around.

Something was off with the town around him, but the fallen archangel couldn't put a finger on what was amiss. He fumbled through the pockets of his leather jacket (and thank god, Castiel had the decency to grab it before dumping him here, wherever here was) and pulled out his phone.

Of course, there was no reception.

Dean let out a frustrated growl, threw the phone back into the pocket, pushed himself off the bench and slid the jacket on – all in one fluid motion. Then he crossed the street and entered the diner to get his bearings.

The moment his eyes fell on the person sitting at the counter and reading a newspaper, the realization hit him like a bag of bricks straight into his stomach.

Michael had only one true vessel – the one he was occupying right now – but there were other humans, other bloodlines who could hold his power for a short period of time in case of emergency. He knew all of his past and future potential vessels, their names and dates of births imprinted into his memory the same way as the list of prophets was.

Recognizing one of those potential vessels was as easy as breathing.

Time travel. A freaking angelic DeLorean. "You must be kidding me…" Dean groaned as he all but collapsed into a free seat right next to one John Winchester.

"Are you okay, buddy?"

Dean turned to look at his dad who was staring at him, his curious expression tinged with a bit of concern. His very young human dad. "Yeah, just…" he trailed off, lifting his hand to massage his nose bridge. "Got pranked."

"Sounds tough," John commented.

"Younger sibling," the hunter replied in an annoyed grumble. "Such a pain in the ass."

A soft smile spread across Winchester's face before he looked to the other side and waved to get the attention of the barista. "Hey! Can we get coffee here?"

Dean couldn't suppress a smile of his own when a smell of coffee filled his nostrils. "Thanks, man," he said before taking a sip.

"You're welcome," John answered, shifting his gaze back to the newspaper.

Dean glanced at it, quickly zeroing on the date. April 30, 1973. And just like that, he could guess pretty well what he was supposed to be stopping.

All these important dates were already predetermined from the beginning of time; the moment God thought that the Apocalypse would be a cool experience for his children. They were weaved into the very existence of time itself, thus, like a little obedient bitch, it would twist, and curve, and bend and do anything to make it happen.

It was one thing to try and derail one of these upcoming destined events, yet absolutely different ordeal once they had already happened. It was near impossible to change them then. And even if someone would manage that, dire consequences would follow their actions. The past couldn't be changed all willy-nilly. Unless you were ready to carry the responsibility of a complete collapse of the known future, no one should be meddling with the flow of time.

Merry Winchester's deal with Azazel was definitely one of these fixed points in history. Dean was positive that none of the angels were ready to destroy their current world, so why the hell Castiel dumped him here with the orders to do exactly that?

Michael really hated being on the receiving end of Heaven's machinations. Especially when he wasn't the mastermind behind all that.

Dean sighed when John left. He stood up and grudgingly slinked after his dad. As he rounded the corner, he almost bumped into Castiel who popped out of nowhere. "Is this," the hunter motioned at the world around them, "your revenge for the knife in your chest?"

The angel's brow furrowed. "No," he finally replied. "I told you. You have to stop it."

"Uh-huh," Dean muttered, observing his younger sibling with narrowed, suspicious eyes. "Watch  _Back to the Future_ , man. Is changing past really is a good idea? Wouldn't it, I don't know, destroy the future as we know it?"

Castiel started, his eyes widening, and the fallen archangel felt quite smug over the fact that he was able to shake the ever stoic warrior.

"Besides," Dean continued, "if this thing is so important that you can bend the time, why can't you stop it yourself?"

Castiel opened his mouth, but then closed it again. The hunter raised an eyebrow, waiting for his answer. As a deep scowl crossed the angel's face and he turned away from Dean, the latter smiled. He was so right – his little brother didn't know how to lie. It was downright endearing.

"I cannot interfere," the angel finally answered, shooting him a pointed look. "This is your mission."

Dean stared at him unimpressed. "Right."

They glared at each other for a moment.

Then Dean smirked. "Well, whatever," he said cheerily, clapping Castiel over his shoulder as he brushed past him. "I'm gonna stop whatever you want me to stop."

Fat chance of him actually doing it, but he felt a tad bit guilty for teasing poor Castiel so mercilessly. Dean was sure it wasn't his idea of this spectacle, that the little angel was only following orders, and whoever his superior was, he was a true dickbag.

They needed Dean Winchester broken, guilt-ridden, and compliant once he had to say 'Yes' and relinquish his rights to his body. And seeing his mom making a deal with the demon and consequently selling his brother to the bastard, would certainly hit him hard.

Not that it mattered now when he wasn't just Dean Winchester anymore and there was no point in all the mind games to force him to say 'Yes' to himself. Obviously, Heaven didn't know that. And Michael would keep them in ignorance until he decided that it was time to reveal himself.

Dean crossed the street, quickly glancing over the parking lot of cars for sale. He noticed his dad excitedly petting some kind of dull yellow colored chubby monstrosity, and all of his thoughts suddenly screeched to a halt. The terrifying image of him and Sam sitting in the back seats of that thing flashed before his eyes, and the hunter shuddered. "Oh, hell no!" he muttered under his breath.

 _That_  he was definitely stopping. At all cost.

When Dean saw the car next to the fugly one, he smiled fondly. Even with the layer of dust coating her sleek black form, his Baby was gorgeous as ever. How could John pass her for that horrendous van was beyond him.

"You're not planning to let your future kids ride in that thing, are you?" Dean asked as he approached his dad and leaned on Baby, such a familiar, comforting act.

John swiveled around startled. "Well, I promised someone…" he trailed off before squinting at the leather wearing stranger in suspicion. "Are you following me?"

"Nah, I was just passing by." Dean waved him off. "This is the car you want," he said, making a few gentle taps on Impala's hood. Not waiting for a reply, he pushed himself off the car and expertly hefted the hood up.

"Oh, yeah? You know something about cars?" John asked, already peeking over the other man's shoulder.

Dean smirked at him. "My dad taught me everything I know. And this is a great car. I can guarantee that you won't regret buying it."

* * *

Half an hour later Dean was lounging on the street bench with his arms dropped across the backrest frame, observing John Winchester carefully maneuvering Impala out of the parking lot and speeding up slightly along the street before it disappeared out of view.

Dean made no move to follow.

Instead, he heaved a heavy sigh of relief, closed his eyes for a moment, and muttered, "Thank god, the crisis had been averted." Then he absent-mindedly looked around. What should he do know?

The advertisement column caught his attention. Or more precisely, one specific poster. Dean's mouth stretched into a huge grin.

The dickbag from upstairs wanted to crush his confidence, to break anything that was left of Dean Winchester after the Hell. Bad news for the douche, he was messing with the wrong person.

The fallen archangel jumped to his feet, full of eagerness. He glanced at the poster again, and his grin widened even more.

 _ **LED ZEPPELIN  
**__FRI. MAY 4-8 P.M._  
ATLANTA STADIUM  
GET YOUR TICKETS NOW!

"This will be awesome!"

* * *

Dean hung out around Lawrence for a few days doing nothing in particular, but painting a pretty decent picture of the hunter trying to figure out the hunt. Judging by the lack of angels popping in, he was pretty confident that they had been fooled.

Dean got thrilled more and more about the concert as the date drew closer. It was a chance in like never to see one of his favorite bands in live performance. He hyped himself up till he was glowing with excitement before finally jumping into the stolen car and leaving Lawrence without as much as a glance back.

The older Winchester always loved driving, traveling the roads like endless rivers of tarmac stretching into the horizon in front and behind as far as the eye could see, or disappearing in the forest only a few meters or so ahead and no one could tell where the road will take the weary travelers to.

Dean was halfway to Atlanta when night fell, a blackness, thick as velvet, engulfed the world and it shrunk to the boundary of the car's headlights, rolling cautiously down the road. Silent and calm music filled the air inside the car without effort, like the waves filling holes in beach sand. The sound rushed from the radio and weaved around Dean, lulling him into a peaceful state without any thoughts in his head – there was only music, road, and his fingers drumming on the wheel along the rhythm.

"What are you doing, Dean?"

The hunter almost jumped out of his skin at the sudden and unexpected voice. The car swerved dangerously and careened onto the dirt shoulder, but he corrected it quickly and expertly. Dean's heart was still pounding a mile a minute as he glanced at Castiel, sitting innocently in the passenger's seat and staring at him, his vessel's deep blue eyes boring straight into his soul.

"Jesus, Cas!" Dean exclaimed before taking a deep breath and letting it out, calming himself. "You want to scare me to death?"

"I do not wish you harm."

"Yeah? Well, tell that to my heart," the man grumbled. He glanced at the angel again, feeling his intense gaze prickling on his skin. "What's up, buddy?"

"What are you doing, Dean?" Castiel repeated, watching human with squinty eyes, trying and failing to understand what this man was thinking.

Dean genuinely beamed at him. "I'm going to Led Zeppelin 's concert!" he informed cheerfully.

The angel was still staring, his brow furrowed. His wings shifted slightly, betraying his agitation.

"Hey! I did what you asked me to," Dean stated, sounding a bit defensive. "I stopped it."

Castiel seemed even more puzzled. "You did?"

"Yeah." The hunter chuckled. "Imagine me and Sammy growing in that big ass, ugly van? Not happening. Ever."

"That… was not what you had to do."

"Seriously? Ah, well, tough luck."

The angel stared at Dean, and the latter could feel the palpable confusion rolling out of him in waves. Then Castiel shifted in his seat, sitting stiffly, but now watched the road stretching in front of the car.

The music filled the air once more as the two of them traveled in silence. Thinking about the concert tomorrow, Dean unconsciously grinned.

"You are in a good mood," Castiel commented, looking at the hunter again.

Dean let out a short, happy laugh. "It's Led Zeppelin, man! Led Zeppelin!"

There was a pause before Castiel sighed, "I am sorry, Dean."

"Sorry? What for?" the archangel asked, glancing at his younger sibling. Two fingers were already reaching for his forehead. "Whoa! Wait!" Dean exclaimed into an empty motel room, instinctively taking a step back. He blinked, then swept his hand across his face before letting it drop back to his side. "Son of a bitch!"

"To save your father's life, your mother made a deal with Azazel."

Dean turned around, his eyes instantly zeroing on the speaker. Castiel was standing near the window and stared through it like it was the most interesting thing in the world to do.

"Mary Winchester permitted Azazel to enter her home and corrupt your brother by feeding him his blood." With his vessels eyes shining with sympathy, Castiel looked at Dean, but the hunter only crossed his arms in front of his chest, staying silent. "We do not know why he did it, what his endgame is. He went to great length to cover that up." When Dean still said nothing, simply staring at the angel with a neutral expression on his face, Castiel shifted and continued, "Your brother is headed down a dangerous road, Dean, and we are not sure where it leads. You need to stop it. Or we will."

Dean straightened up, drawing himself up to his full height, and narrowed his eyes, something dangerous and ferocious flashing through those sharp green irises. His well-hidden grace surged to life, twirling and sparkling in an abrupt wrath. If he didn't have such a tight control over it, it would have probably exploded outwards.

Nevertheless, Castiel suddenly was alert, watching the human wearily and a puzzled frown sitting between his eyebrows. In a few strides, Dean was right in front of him, seemingly looming over the angel. Castiel's wings instinctively pressed closer to his body in a defensive submission, despite their owner's will.

"Nobody threatens my brother," Dean growled out, low and menacingly. "Not even you, Castiel." He glared the younger angel down for a few breaths longer, then simply turned around and marched away from him.

"425 Waterman," Castiel informed him quietly, before immediately disappearing with a flutter of wings.

Dean glanced to where his angelic sibling had been standing, pushed his gun behind the back of his jeans, grabbed Impala's keys and left the motel room, loudly slamming its door.

* * *

Looking around, Dean climbed out of the Impala. His eyes slid over the expensive car parked a bit further from his spot, then flicked back onto the shabby warehouse in front of him. With the last measuring glance around, he jogged towards the door. Putting his hand on the rusty metal, he used a droplet of his grace on the surface to muffle the inevitable creaking and carefully pushed the door open just enough for him to slip inside. Nobody noticed him entering: neither Sam nor Ruby or the demon, bound to the chair.

Sam was oozing with power. Dark, savage, and destructive. It thrummed underneath his skin with the fresh dose of the demon blood pumping through his veins. His soul was black and tainted, with only a few bright patches left, the toxic potency of all that evil power slowly seeping through the scars marring its external layers and into its core.

Dean watched his youngest brother outright snarl at the demon's taunting words. He realized that now Sam was truly balancing on the thin line between human and not-human-anymore. He was lying, sneaking around, and playing around with that demon bitch. Betraying his older brother.

The devastating sadness overwhelmed Dean and he shut his eyes as to not see the evil clawing its way deeper into Sammy's beautiful soul.

This was like déjà vu. The memories from eons ago rushed to the forefront of the fallen archangel's mind and he took a shuddering breath. Lucifer lying to him, sneaking around, and planning the rebellion, plunging their home into chaos. Betraying his older brother.

But after living as a human, experiencing the emotions that human's soul could offer, Michael could recall seeing signs, the change in his fellow archangel's behavior, the gradual spiraling downwards until that moment when they had clashed their swords, their wings flaring aggressively and powers colliding under the blanket of a dark storm. The one and only time when Heaven had been so ominous and unwelcoming, brothers killing brothers under its darkened dome.

Lucifer's expression so broken and hurt and the feeling of his grace radiating pain and  _betrayal_  the moment his older brother banished him from Heaven and cast him out to the earth.

Dean's guts churned in disgust at himself and his heart clenched with guilt.

Dean and Sam were true vessels for Michael and Lucifer respectively. No wonder that it was like history wanted to repeat itself.

And Michael couldn't go through that again.

Green eyes opened just in time to see Sam turning around, supportive arms around the previously possessed man. The younger Winchester froze instantly when he noticed Dean, leaning at the wall near the exit, half-hidden by the shadows.

Sam's eyes widened and his jaw went slack, something akin fear settling on his young features. "D-Dean," he stuttered out in uncertainty as he gently lowered the victim down, not shifting his gaze from his older brother. "Dean, this is…" Sam trailed off, clearly not knowing what to say to appease Dean. His arms instinctively went up into a placating gesture. "Just let me explain, okay?"

Dean watched him in silence, and Sam's anxiety shot a few notches up because there was no anger, no fury. He observed his brother's face, but couldn't identify any traces of need to yell at him or punch him. The pure, heartbreaking sadness was the only thing he could see, and it unsettled him more than any other reaction ever could.

And then Dean simply pushed from the wall, spun on his heel, ripped the door open, and walked away without uttering a word. An uneasy feeling squeezed Sam's heart and he barreled after him, ignoring Ruby's shouting.

Sam emerged from the warehouse as Dean slid into the Impala. "Dean, wait!" he called desperately, but the car peeled out of the empty parking lot, leaving only rain of gravel in its wake.

* * *

"He did WHAT?!"

Castiel winced at the raised voice of his superior before he decided to repeat the part of his report, "Dean Winchester erred to understand his mission and he–"

"I heard you the first time!" Zachariah cut him off, abruptly standing up from his chair.

The angel watched the elegantly suited figure starting to pace the room with barely concealed rage bubbling just below the manner of cool sophistication, the seraph's two pairs of dark grey wings raised and feathers ruffled in his great ire.

"That imbecilic hairless ape!" Zachariah growled out as he prowled back and forth along his work table. "Just how stupid that human can be! If Michael wouldn't need him as his…" He took a deep breath, reining in his emotions. Once he calmed down, his wings returned to their relaxed position. "No matter," the seraph said, smoothing down the creases in his expensive suit. "There are other ways to make him do what we need him to do." A smile broke across his vessel's face, splitting his skin into something wicked. Zachariah sat down in his chair again and looked up at Castiel, scowling as if surprised that the young angel was still here. "I thought you have seals to protect?"

Castiel dipped his head in respect, spread his wings and dived down from Heaven back to earth, neatly landing right into the empty passenger's seat in Dean's car, invisible for the human next to him. The angel glanced at the man, slightly tilting his head to the side and frowning. Dean seemed anxious, wary, and incredibly sad.

Castiel didn't know why he felt the sudden compulsion to comfort this human, and his left wing arched around Dean like it was the most natural thing to do.

It was strange.

The angels were supposed to protect humans, Castiel knew his duties very well, but from the moment he cradled the broken soul of the Righteous Man and the latter clung to him with such desperation, he realized that Dean was different. His soul was nothing like he expected human's soul to be. Castiel never thought that the human could evoke such a strong feeling of protectiveness in him that he would take the sinner's taint into himself and even put his own protection brand on him.

It was an impulsive decision, a whim really. Castiel was quite surprised by his own action, and yet he didn't regret it in a slightest.

The angel observed as Dean relaxed under the comfort of his wing, and he actually preened at the accomplishment.

Zachariah's words came to his mind. What would Michael need Dean for? Yes, he was the one who could stop the Apocalypse being the one who started it, but Castiel somehow doubted that that was the reason.

Could Dean be Michael's vessel?

That thought startled the young angel, and he squinted at the human, scrutinizing his profile with extreme intensity. It would explain why he felt so strange around him. Archangel's vessels were special on themselves, and with such a strong and vibrant soul like Dean's, there was no wonder that Castiel felt such a great presence in the Righteous Man when he got furious.

Even though Castiel never met his oldest brother face to face, he had seen him from afar and knew how powerful and beautiful the first archangel was. At that one brief moment in the motel room, it seemed as if Michael himself was staring him down, Dean's presence many times weaker, but nonetheless similarly magnificent and demanding respect.

The distress call from the team engaging Lucifer's followers for the seal caught Castiel off guard. He sighed, and with the last glance towards his charge spread his wings and flew to help his siblings.

Dean shuddered suddenly as if someone removed the warm and comforting blanket from around his shoulders. He looked around the car, baffled. With a shrug, the hunter leaned towards the glove compartment and pulled out one of the Led Zeppelin's tapes.

A long road waited ahead to the possible location of Michael's grace piece.


End file.
